


In the Fold

by WifeyMcWiferson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Bones, Camping, Cannibalism, Corpse theft, Creature Fic, Gen, Hiking, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Medical Trauma, Not a Deathfic, Not a Marysue, Panic Attacks, Panic Room, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Sam Winchester, Robbery, Tranquilizers, Wendigo, lost Dean, wendigo hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:12:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 82,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WifeyMcWiferson/pseuds/WifeyMcWiferson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an unusual wendigo hunt, Dean goes missing. Now it's weeks later and Sam hasn't gotten any closer to finding him. Bobby joins the hunt and enlists an old friend, who is equipped for the hunt but unwilling. Good, old fashioned monster killing here. Full of humor, complications in recovery, whumping galore, even Garth! Robberies, getaways, an uncrankable Impala, even a hysterical Dean!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking a look!

Sam attempted to glance at the speedometer again, receiving a glare from Dean. Sam slumped back against the passenger side seat; he closed his eyes again, trying to make his head stop swimming. He hadn’t been carsick in years and really didn’t want Dean to make fun of him, again. 

“Can you just slow down? We’ll get there soon and besides, Bobby said we can’t start hunting until tomorrow anyway,” Sam said, reaching down to turn down the music. His hand got about two inches from the knob before Dean reached out and smacked his hand away. 

“We’re only about twenty miles away Sammy. What’s the deal? You suddenly have something against real beds, hot showers, and hot food?” Dean asked. “Figured you would want your beauty sleep before we start interviewing people tomorrow.”

Sam leaned over far enough to place his temple against the cool window, anything to offset the awful sensations throbbing in his head and tearing at his stomach. He could feel the saliva kicking into overdrive. He hated this road; it was beautiful but a real pain in the ass. It ran between a river and the rock face of a mountain. If it hadn’t been for the rafters and kayakers that had parked precariously alongside the narrow road, he would have bet that no one ever used this road. He just wanted to get out of the national forest and back onto a straight, flat road. And if Dean could not notice his carsickness it would be even better; but the problem with having Dean Winchester as your brother meant nothing went unnoticed. 

Dean glanced at Sam when he didn’t respond to Dean’s teasing and instantly saw how pale and green Sam had become. It was the second glance before he noticed the tight jaw line and the overactive swallow reflect kicking into action. Dean didn’t even hesitate before he hit the brakes.

“What the hell Dean!” Sam yelled out as Dean hit the brakes and swerved onto a small strip of asphalt that the Tennessee DOT called a scenic overlook.

“Don’t move! Don’t you even think of throwing up in my car,” Dean ground out as he shoved his door open. Sam dropped his head against the dash. The teasing would never end. He heard Dean moving things around in the trunk and he was surprised when Dean climbed back into the car with the first aid kit in his hands. 

“Dean, isn’t it too late for Dramamine?” Sam asked miserably. 

“Forget the Dramamine. Here,” Dean said as he tossed a handful of paper onto the seat next to Sam. 

“Dude, where did you get these?” Sam asked as he held up an airline barf bag. 

“Remember the Seattle job?” Dean asked as he maneuvered the Impala back out into the main road. 

Sam’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember the job. “We didn’t fly in Seattle. Or even go the airport,” Sam stated curiously. 

“Yeah, well, remember that flight attendant I picked up playing pool?” Dean asked, a look of fleeting happiness passing over his face. 

“Unbelievable,” Sam managed to state before the dry heaving started. 

The hotel was, well, nonexistent. The town didn’t have a hotel. Or even a motel. When the local man at the gas station told them that the nearest hotel was back the way they came, Dean thought for sure Sam turned another shade of green. “Where do all the rafters stay? There’s got to a lodge or something, right?” Sam asked the man, desperation apparent. 

“Down about a mile, turn right. They got little cabins for rent,” the man said. “Can’t miss them.”

Sam slumped in the Impala while Dean managed to rent their cabin. They were amazed that it actually had two queen beds, a kitchenette, and a tidy bathroom that had the smallest shower Sam had ever seen. Sam dropped tiredly onto his bed and woke to a bag of food being dropped onto him. As much as the short doze had helped his throbbing head, he wasn’t ready for food and tossed it into the fridge; meanwhile Dean had already managed to demolish half of a huge cheeseburger while setting up the laptop. 

“Research? You, really?” Sam asked as he watched Dean try to wipe ketchup from the keyboard. 

“Hey! I can research just as well as you, I just prefer not to,” Dean retorted. “You wanna take over?”

Sam nodded and waved Dean out of the way; who was actually relieved. He hated research. 

“So what all did Bobby say about this job anyways? Was it a black dog?” Dean asked as he began to empty his duffel bag, making sure to put his trusty knife under his pillow for safekeeping. 

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Black dog? Whose conversation were you listening to? 

“Hey! I was a little busy at the time,” Dean said. “Remember?”

Sam nodded and returned to the laptop. He did remember. Dean had been hung over and hugging the toilet for two hours, during which Bobby had called and asked them to take a look into a job in the Blue Ridge Mountains. 

“Bobby did some research before he called us. Apparently, it’s been going on for some time. People have been getting lost, or taken, off of some hiking trails nearby. They aren’t seen again. No bodies. No remains. No clues. No unusual sightings. None of the people have any connections to each other. Mostly out of towners on vacation,” Sam explained as he dug a folder out of his duffel bag. Bobby had printed off the victim’s photographs and some of the missing person’s reports he had gotten from a guy he knew. 

“So if we have nothing to go on, and nothing “unusual” to look for, why aren’t we just assuming these people are getting lost?” asked Dean as he chucked the food wrappers into the garbage. 

Sam looked at him over the laptop, eyes rolling. “BECAUSE-last week one of the victims was found. Well, you can say “found” loosely. Rebecca Hadley, age nine, has been missing for over eight weeks. Apparently, she wandered off during a family picnic. They did the big search and rescue but never found her or any clues of what may have happened to her. Her little brother, age five, told his mom that the “boogie man” had taken her. Well, anyways, two weeks ago a rancher noticed that something had spooked his herd and went to check. He claims that he saw a young girl running in his pasture; he didn’t get a chance to stop her. She outran him-while he was on an ATV.”

Dean stopped unpacking and turned around. “So we’re hunting a nine year old Olympic runner? Easy.” 

“That’s not all. A few nights later, he saw her again. He claims she ran down not one but three Angus cattle. And tore them to shreds,” Sam explained. “He called the sheriff’s office. They thought he was crazy but they went looking, only because his description matched that of the missing girl. They found her, in the woods. Took them four days to catch her, she distrusted everyone who came near her. They finally lured her out by using her brother.”

Dean grinned and shook his head. “Nothing like using the five year old as bait; well, that’s what being the little brother’s all about, huh, Sammy?”

Sam glared at him before continuing. “Her first night home was her family’s last. Apparently during the night she got hungry. Like really hungry. She ate both her parents and apparently was saving her brother for later. He was hung upside down in the cellar, in what the local medical professionals called a “shock induced coma”. Sound at all familiar?”

Dean pulled their dad’s journal from his duffel and said, “Yeah, wendigos. I hate wendigos. I was really hoping this job wasn’t going to involve a lot of running. So much for that thought.”


	2. Hunger Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to check this story out! I appreciate it!

The next morning proved to be difficult. The town turned out to be two towns, in two different states. They were both situated right on the state line border and seemed to spill over into each other. If it hadn’t been for the problem of jurisdiction it wouldn’t have made them think twice. Most of the victims were from the Georgia side and so they had the missing person reports; however, the hiking trails crossed over into Tennessee, which is where the investigations were being conducted. After several arguments over fake IDs, and another argument about who used all the hot water; the brothers finally managed to get themselves into the Impala. 

“Can’t believe you used all the hot water,” Dean muttered as he pulled the car passed the other cabins, heading for the town. The only good thing about their stay so far was that most of the other cabins were rented. It was near the end of rafting season but there were plenty of young women wandering around in their bathing suits trying to get one last summer tan. 

“Let’s divide up the interviews since there are quite a few to get done. Bobby said that most of the families are being told to go home and that the authorities will call with any news; not that they are going to find any,” Sam stated plainly as he flipped through his notes from Bobby. 

“Fine,” Dean said. “You want the families or the cops?” 

“Families,” Sam said. “That leaves you with the cops and the medical examiner.”

“What happened to the little girl? She still alive,” Dean asked as he cruised slowly over the first of several railway tracks that crisscrossed over the road. They pulled past a railway yard that looked slightly overgrown, but was still functioning in the sleepy town. 

Sam thumbing through the batch of emails he had received from Bobby, finally selecting the one he wanted. “Apparently, she’s been placed into a state facility. Seems like they are still trying to figure out what to do about her; most states require an immediate life without parole sentence for minor murderers, but they will probably try to use the old “insanity” or “traumatized” angle,” Sam explained.

Dean glanced over at Sam, his surprise obvious. 

“What?!” Sam demanded with a frown. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How—no wait—WHY would you know that,” Dean asked as he pulled in front of the local sheriff’s office, which was so small that it shared a building with the post office. 

“Did you forget that I wanted to be a lawyer? I may not be in college anymore but that doesn’t mean I’m not still keeping up with the law,” Sam explained as he swung the car door open. “Just because you spend your nights looking at porn doesn’t mean I do.” 

“Alright Samantha, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dean said, waving his hands in a stance of helplessness as he slid out of the car. “Just remember, we’re the Feds. It’s the only way we’re going to get to play on both sides of the state line.”

“You going to be alright without the car?” Sam asked as he walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Dean fidgeted with his tie once more, why did the Feds dress so God awful, anyways?

“Why wouldn’t I be? Here is the Georgia police station,” Dean said as he pointed to the brick building in front of him. “And the Tennessee police station is right over there.” He turned and gestured to a large brick building about three blocks away. “The state line is right between them. The day I can’t walk that far is the day I quit chasing monsters.”

Sam rolled his eyes and cranked the car. “Call me if you get anything.”

Dean watched Sam drive away before he walked into the police station. “I’d like to see someone about the recent missing persons,” Dean said to the police officer as he slid his ID across the counter. The man scrutinized the badge before waving Dean to the side door, where he buzzed Dean in. Dean walked confidently into an office where an older man sat, files stacked precariously on his desk. His face fell when he spotted Dean standing in the doorway. “I didn’t realize the Feds were so interested in this case.”

“Well, Detective Dunwell, we’re interested in what caused Rebecca Hadley to actually eat two people. I’d like to see the other missing person files as well,” Dean stated as he motioned to the file folders on the desk. “Do you have the medical examiner’s reports yet?”

“On the parents or Rebecca Hadley,” Detective Dunwell asked as he shuffled through files. “I think the ME faxed the parent’s files this morning.”

“Wait, you said Rebecca Hadley? I thought she was a state facility,” Dean stated. 

“As of yesterday morning she was. Interestingly enough, she was killed yesterday afternoon,” Detective Dunwell explained. 

“She tried to escape?” Dean asked. “Or did she go all ‘I wanna eat your face off’ on someone?”

“Nope. They received orders she was to be transported from Tennessee to here in Georgia, since we have a better equipped facility for violent minors. She was going to be held there until the court could decide what to do with her. She was being loaded for transport when she was killed,” Detective Dunwell said. 

“How exactly did she die?” Dean asked, curiously. 

“This is what you aren’t going to believe, like there’s anything believable about this case. She was killed from several hundred yards away, by a marksman,” Detective Dunwell stated, running a hand over his already tired face. “All I can say is thank God it happened over in Tennessee. I wouldn’t want that end of the investigation.”

“You’re saying that a sniper killed Rebecca Hadley?” Dean asked incredulously. “That someone killed a nine year old who ate both her parents?”

“To be honest, Agent Rudd, I’m more interested in what happened to her in the weeks she was missing. We’ve got over a dozen families that have someone missing off the same set of hiking trails. Most of them have gone from worrying about finding their loved one to worrying that if we find them, that they’ll suffer a similar fate as Rebecca Hadley’s parents. Whatever happened to her, it changed more than just her disposition. That I know,” Detective Dunwell said quietly. 

Dean’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “What do you mean? Did you see her before she died?”

“I helped get her home. We worked with the Tennessee officers to finally bring her in,” Detective Dunwell stated. “I saw her briefly before her parents took her home. She was emaciated for certain, but her stomach was distended. Her skin had turned grayish, her hair was beginning to fall out in clumps, and that’s not the weirdest thing.” 

“What else did you notice?” Dean asked reaching for the notepad he kept in his jacket pocket. 

Detective Dunwell glanced at the open office door before looking down at his hands, folded on his desk. 

Dean leaned back in his chair and managed to push the door closed, seeing the officer’s hesitation. “Off the record, of course,” Dean stated casually as he slipped his notebook back into his jacket pocket. “I’m not looking to ruin anyone’s reputation, just want to find out the truth of the matter.”

Detective Dunwell blushed and glanced at the now closed door. “She was different. Her voice, it was high and rough. Her fingers were too long, feet as well. It was like she had gotten stretched out, pulled like taffy. And she was fast! Too fast. You heard how we lured her in right? With her brother.”

Dean sat back in the uncomfortable chair and considered what he had learned. It sounded like a wendigo, but it took ages for someone to become one. Not eight weeks. “Who has her body,” asked Dean. 

“Her physical corpse is going to be incinerated. The ME recommended it since we don’t know what caused the-changes-in Rebecca,” Detective Dunwell stated. “You’ll be able to get her autopsy file from the Tennesse police department.”

“Right. Well, Detective Dunwell, I appreciate the information. I’m going to need copies of all the missing person files and the autopsy reports on Rebecca’s parents,” Dean said as he got up to leave. “What exactly is your office doing regarding the rest of the missing people?”

“Well, since they disappeared in Tennessee, the investigation is being handled by that office. But, to be honest, if my officer’s cross the state line to help look, I’m keeping them on the books. We’ve got to find them,” Detective Dunwell said defiantly. 

Dean paused at the doorway and turned back. “How did you guys determine Rebecca Hadley had eaten her parents?”

“After Rebecca was released from the hospital, her parents took her home. It was probably about 5pm when they got home. The next morning, a neighbor stopped by to congratulate them on finding Rebecca, no one answered the door but there was blood seeping out from under the front door. Apparently, her mother almost made it out of the house,” Detective Dunwell explained with a grimace. “When the officer’s broke into the house to investigate, they found Rebecca holed up in a closet, where she had made a nest of blankets, broken furniture, and dirt. She had dragged her parent’s bodies in with her. There were teeth marks down to the bones.”

Dean nodded and was interrupted as another officer stepped into the office and handed him a stack of copied files. “Well, Detective Dunwell thanks for the files,” Dean said. “In the meantime, can you tell me where I can find a great burger?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like Dean to be hungry after all that! hehehe Like it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!


	3. A Plan Indeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters of this story. Hope you like it!

Dean watched Sam park the Impala from the second story window of the town’s only non-diner restaurant, a two-story Mexican restaurant that seemed to survive only by serving the unsuspecting tourists that took the train tour into the small town. Dean had arrived fifteen minutes before their agreed meeting time, his interviews at the Tennessee police department had been cut short when he found that all the officers were either out on routine patrol or assisting families in one last search before most of them began to head home, empty handed and one person missing from each of their groups. Only a single officer remained in the station, manning the phones and radios. The officer had barely looked at Dean as he handed over copies of the investigation files and the medical examiner’s report on Rebecca Hadley. 

Dean motioned to Sam from the window, letting him know where to find him. Momentarily Sam slid onto the bench across the booth, loosening his tie as he signaled to the waiter. After ordering, they waited to be sure the waiter was out of earshot; Dean slid the ME report across the table to Sam. “I have to admit, the ME wrote a riveting autopsy. Bet they could win a sci-fi contest with these kinds of gruesome descriptions. The stomach contents alone are just a few ingredients short of a dump dive at Jeffrey Dahmer’s house,” Dean explained. 

“Dean, that’s disgusting and I am starved. Keep the gross level down a few notches until after we eat,” Sam said, distaste ringing out in his voice. 

“Fine, but the pictures of the crime scene might make an excellent diet plan if you’re interested,” Dean said innocently as he thumbed through the file. He knew Sam’s curiosity would win out, he just had to wait. 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and considered the file in Dean’s hands. “Hand it over,” Sam said with a sigh of defeat. 

“You’re sure your delicate stomach can take it,” Dean asked with a grin. 

Sam reached over the table and deftly swiped the file, smacking Dean across the head with it. “I can handle it. I just spent the day interviewing families who are ranging from angry with everyone from God to law enforcement, we fake agents included, and some who are scared to be eaten in their homes if any survivors are found. I’ll take gruesome paperwork over fighting, crying families any day.”

The waiter approached the table and Sam and Dean quickly closed the files and moved them off the table. After the food had been served, Sam opened the file containing the crime scene photos and after a short scan of the photos pushed his plate back. 

“Not hungry,” Dean asked with a wicked grin. “More for me.”

After a few minutes of Sam pushing food around his plate, Dean motioned to the sidewalk across the street. There was a group of families gathered in the parking lot, hugging each other and exchanging paperwork, most likely contact information. 

“Are those the families,” Dean asked around a mouthful of food. Sam nodded. He recognized most of them from his interviews earlier in the day. 

“They are all heading home in the morning. The cops told them there’s nothing more to do; even though the cops are all out looking anyways. Maybe they just want to get them out of the way,” Sam said. 

“What I want to know is why the families and the cops are so determined any of them are still alive,” Dean stated. “Rebecca Hadley was the most recent disappearance and that was over eight weeks ago. Why wouldn’t people assume they’re dead? No one is going to survive that long in those conditions. Those trails get pretty treacherous and they zigzag into some desolate areas.”

Sam gave Dean an odd look and rubbed his tired eyes. “Would you give up on me if I disappeared for eight weeks? Or ten weeks? How long would it take you to quit looking? People want to believe their loved one will be the exception who survives and gets found. Look what we’re done to stay together, to find each other when we’ve been lost, or taken. Or worse….when we’ve died.”

Sam watched Dean’s eyes darken, as he stopped eating and looked over the families again. He might not want to talk about it, but Sam knew Dean understood. He just didn’t like it when people had false hope, and in a case involving a wendigo it was all false hope. 

Dean gathered up the files and tossed a few bills on the table. He motioned for Sam to lead the way. “Which way is the car,” Dean asked when they exited the corner building. He scanned the street and spotted his baby just down the block. “I want to call Bobby when we get back to the room.”

“Why,” Sam asked. “What did you find?”

“I’m curious who else is working this job,” Dean stated as the engine roared to life. “Someone killed Rebecca Hadley. Someone who didn’t think it was a good idea to let her stay alive. Only another hunter would have known what was happening to her.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled as curiosity blossomed on his face. “Exactly what do you think was happening to her? According to the lore, it takes years-decades even-for someone to turn into a wendigo. But according to the autopsy report-“

“And her eaten parents,” Dean interjected blandly. 

“And her eaten parents,” Sam repeated, with a slight tone of annoyance. “She was already showing signs of what we know to be wendigo traits. The pigmentation changes in her skin, the elongated appendages, the change in her voice’s pitch, and certainly her appetite would all point to an accelerated change.”

“I think besides asking who else is on this job, that’s an excellent question for Bobby,” Dean stated as he turned off the highway and towards their cabin. 

\-----------------------------------------  
The call to Bobby was shorter than anticipated. 

“You think I’d send you two boys to take care of a job that’s already being worked? What kind of idjit do you think I am,” Bobby yelled through the phone trying to make sure Sam could hear him from across the room. 

“Bobby, you’re on speaker,” Dean said jokingly. “Stop yelling. You know Samantha hates it when you yell.”

Sam glared at Dean from across the room and held up the pistol he was cleaning. He set it down on the bed, but not before he turned it towards Dean with a look of warning. 

“No one else in the area could risk getting involved. There are some hunters near your location but they actually live there full time, so they couldn’t risk getting involved and found out,” Bobby said quieter this time. “I’ll have to make some calls and see who else wanted to get involved with this case. I know there are a few militia groups in those mountains; hopefully it wasn’t any one of them. ”

“Bobby, what do you think about the fact that the girl was showing signs of turning into a Wendigo so quickly,” Sam asked as he moved to the chair across from Dean, trying to make sure that Bobby could hear him. 

“That’s a can of crazy I don’t even want to think about. And why she wasn’t strung up as food. That’s a point of real concern. If the wendigos numbers can climb this quickly then we are about to have some real problems,” Bobby stated, his voice crackling over the phone. “I’ll call you boys tomorrow with any news.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Dean said as he snapped the phone shut. He turned to Sam and asked, “So we’ve interviewed everyone. Got every file they have. And our best lead is dead. What’s the agenda for tomorrow?”

“I thought we’d hit the trails and check out the area. I got a detailed map from the Tennessee police department; it shows the areas they have checked. I also stopped by the museum and got a copy of the old mine plans,” Sam said as he pulled a stack of paperwork out of his bag. “Apparently, the mine was the entire reason the town was founded. At one point the entire basin of this valley was lifeless of any plants or wildlife because of the mining. The mining process ruined the terrain for years. The mining requirements improved, vegetation returned, and the town survived although the mine closed years ago. There is still an active company working on the same site, a chemical company. They make fertilizer compounds.”

Dean gave Sam a bored look. “You were supposed to be interviewing families. Not gathering data to write a guide book for one of the more boring towns we’ve been in.”

Sam shrugged and said, “One of the families had been doing a lot of research and gave me the whole gambit.” 

“Well, I’m assuming the local cops checked the mines, right?” Dean asked as he began to shed the suit he hated so much. 

“You’d think so but the chemical company has had it entirely fenced off and has a surveillance system in place. The cops reviewed the camera feed but that’s all,” Sam explained. 

“So I guess we’re going not only hiking tomorrow but spelunking as well,” Dean said as he headed for the bathroom. “Great. Remember how much I love nature?”

Sam laughed and called out as Dean closed the bathroom door, “I thought you hated camping and nature hikes.”

“Exactly,” Dean said as he pushed the door closed. 

As Sam heard the shower start, he went to the car and brought in the shopping bags he had hidden in the trunk. He knew Dean would be against his idea but after their last Wendigo hunt he wanted to make sure they were better prepared. He dumped the bags on his bed and started to divide up the contents. Backpacks, bottles of water, some dried fruits and granola bars, and of course the traditional bag of peanut M&Ms for Dean’s bag. He was had started to divide up the first aide supplies when his phone rang. He answered it without looking and said, “Hey Bobby. What did you find?”

“Turns out there are a few militia groups on the far north side of the mountains range. The cops apparently just stormed at least two of the compounds looking for the marksman who killed Rebecca Hadley,” Bobby explained. Sam could hear Rumsfeld barking in the background and smiled to himself. “But according to my source, the shooter didn’t have any connection to the militia groups other than maybe attracting some unwanted attention. My source did mention a possible third guess as to whom it may have been but they’re not giving up a name. Either way, they assured me they would pass along word that you boys are working the case and to back off. Don’t want anyone to blow your cover.”

“Thanks Bobby. We’re headed to the trails in the morning. Going to scope out the old mine shafts and see if we can get lucky and find wherever their holed up. Maybe someone will be alive,” Sam explained. 

“You boys ready for the possibility of what you’re going to have to do if none of them are able to be saved? If they’re like Rebecca Hadley,” Bobby asked with hesitation in his voice. 

“Already thought of that Bobby,” Sam said he placed several flare guns in each of the backpacks. 

“Well, good luck and happy hunting,” Bobby said. “You idjits be careful. Stay together.”

“Will do Bobby,” Sam said he hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. He stood back and admired his handiwork. He knew Dean would have a fit when he saw the backpacks, but it was necessary. 

Sam was sitting in the bed reading the local guidebook when Dean stepped out of the bathroom in a wave of steam. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean stopped short when he spotted the backpack sitting on his bed. Sam slightly shifted the guidebook higher to hide his grin. Dean didn’t say anything as he dug through the dresser for his clothes. 

“If you think I can’t rock My Little Ponies, you got another thing coming. I make anything look sexy,” Dean said he tossed his new pink and purple backpack next to his shoes. 

.


	4. Camp Scrabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get posted!

The next morning proved to be cool and damp, which only wore down Dean’s already dreadful disposition. 

“How can anyone think this is fun,” Dean grumbled as he traipsed down the hiking path. “This sucks in the worst kind of way. My shoes are wet, my jeans are wet. I’m cold. There are spider webs everywhere. Let’s get this over with so I can kill something and get a hot shower.”

“Grumpy much?” Sam asked rhetorically. He knew Dean was miserable and likely to get more so as the day went by. Dean had tried to ditch his backpack at the cabin and once at the hiking trail head. Sam had finally pulled out his secret weapon, the puppy dog eyes, followed by the bitch face. Dean had begrudgingly carried it at arm’s length for the first half mile, stopping only once he was certain they were out of sight of the park. 

“So what’s the plan,” Sam asked even though they had discussed it in the car earlier. He wanted Dean to stay on target. Wendigo hunts were notorious between hunters as being one of the most unpredictable and therefore dangerous hunts to complete. While hunting in groups typically led to good results and less casualties, there had been plenty of hunters who had gotten spooked on wendigo hunts and ended up shooting their partners by mistake. 

“We find the wendigo, kill it. Look for any missing hikers that may still be alive and save them,” Dean ground out. “Sound simple enough for you, Sammy?”

“Okay, what if we find the hikers and they are more wendigo than human,” Sam asked, choosing to ignore the “Sammy” comment. 

“Well, we can’t risk them eating their family during the reunion. So we do what we have to,” Dean replied as he finally pulled the backpack onto his shoulders. He kept a flare gun in his hand as well the M&Ms. Breakfast of champions, after all.

They continued to walk down the trail, using high power binoculars to scan the trees off the pathways for the giveaway claw marks wendigos used to mark their territories. They hiked for hours keeping good enough time that they reached the forestry ranger station two hours before sunset. As they walked to the office, Dean noticed several non-forestry ATVs were parked along the narrow embankment that ran alongside the cabin. 

Sam walked up the steps toward the office when the ranger stepped out the door. “You boys part of the search and rescue?”

Sam nodded and held out his fake badge and motioned to Dean, who had sunk onto the steps as soon as he had gotten to them. “That’s my partner. We wanted to see the trails for ourselves. Is this is the farthest the search area goes?”

Ranger Foster nodded and motioned for Sam to follow him inside. Sam turned to Dean, but Dean just waved him on and said, “I’ll be there in a minute. I want to check in with Bobby.” 

Sam followed Ranger Foster into the cabin, which had been well equipped as a forestry outpost. “Typically, hikers don’t go this far out unless they plan to camp. And camping in the state forest requires permits so that we always know how many campers there are and where they are camping. None of the missing hikers were permitted for overnight camping. In fact, none of the hikers even checked in here. We have a surveillance feed on the porch to monitor wildlife that passes nearby. Any hiker that would have passed it would have triggered it. None of them came this way or this far out, so the search radius is basically back the way you came; although a lot of the police officers have taken to searching the outer trails.”

“Are those their ATVs outside,” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, they’re in the back if you want to check in with them,” Ranger Foster explained. He led Sam down the hallway and motioned to a large open style kitchen area. There were several men and women looking over a large aerial map of the forest which had been tacked to the wall. He could see trails highlighted and threads strung from pins sectioning off other areas. Sam cleared his throat and asked, “Has anyone check the old mine entrances?”

Several people turned and looked at him but it was an officer Sam recognized from his interviews that answered. “The entrances don’t line up with any of the trails. And according to records all the entrances were closed when the mine closed. They used dynamite to seal them up. Most of the entrances were in the mining yard, but a few of the older entrances are in what is now the state forestry property. “

“Any chance anyone could loan my partner and I one of the ATVs? We have to see the outer trails and we have a lot of ground to cover before dark,” Sam explained. 

“Well, if you’re not planning to hitch a ride for town with us now, you’d better plan to be sleeping here at the ranger station tonight. There’s no way you’ll reach the outer trails before dark, much less get back before then. And we here at the forestry department will not be advising any overnight camping until this is cleared up,” Ranger Foster said. “You boys bring sleeping bags?”

Sam chuckled, considering how Dean would feel about this. No hot shower after all. 

“If someone can give me a ride back to my truck, I’ll loan you my ATV,” said a woman behind Sam. “Just make sure you bring it back to town tomorrow.”

Sam turned and was slightly taken back by the woman’s appearance. She was dressed for the trail, but not in the typical athletic way most of others were. She wore heavy work boots, a long sleeved shirt that Sam knew would have been miserably hot to hike in, an old faded leather hat that she had pulled low, and had a rifle strapped to her back. She refused to look at him when he tried to thank her. 

“You can use my truck, Alice,” Ranger Foster offered. “I won’t need it until tomorrow anyhow when I go to pick up supplies for the station.” 

Alice handed Sam a key and walked away before he could say anything. 

Sam sat and watched as everyone marked off their completed search areas and broke up into groups before heading to their rides. Dean walked in as the last of them walked out, holding the door for Alice as she walked outside; Dean not noticing how she kept her head low as she passed him. 

“So what did Bobby say? Anything new,” Sam asked as he watched from the window as the search personnel pulled away from the cabin, engines seeming loud in the quiet forest. 

“Nothing except the answer we needed, “Dean said excitedly. “We can be back in our room before the late night info commercials if we hurry. There is an old service entrance to the mine.”

“I though they collapsed them all,” Sam explained, confusion on his face. 

“Bobby compared the original mine layout to the destruction plans. They missed one, way out past the trails,” Dean said. “Get your stuff, let’s go.”

“Bad news, sunset is in less than forty-five minutes,” Sam said. “I’ve got us an ATV, but we can’t leave until tomorrow. We can’t risk getting lost or separated in the dark. We’re going to spend the night here in the forestry cabin and we can leave first thing in the morning.”

Sam watched Dean mull over their situation and could see the sulk face starting. “It’s just for one night Dean, you can do it,” Sam said patiently. 

“I know I can,” Dean said, pouting slightly. “I just don’t want to. Besides, forestry rangers are out here for like weeks on end. Ranger Foster could be one those people who desperately needs company. We could be stuck here playing Scrabble all night while listening to owls and wolves, Sam. You ready for that?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting Dean. I’m going to go scope out the bunks.”

As the sun set, Sam noticed that while Dean had been right about the Scrabble tournament he was wrong about the forest noises. There wasn’t as much as a peep from the wildlife. Even the bug zapper hanging in the porch was silent except for the slight hum of electricity. Sam got up more than once and checked the security feed that Ranger Foster had set up to run. It provided night vision and had been aimed at a nearby feeding station. 

Ranger Foster leaned over to see the feed on the screen. “Nothing yet,” he said with a frown. “We used to get several nighttime wildlife visits a night. We were using it to track animal migration here in the park but we haven’t had so much as a possum in three weeks.”

Sam glanced over at Dean, who nodded and went back to rearranging his Scrabble tiles. “Well, what would cause the wildlife to suddenly stop showing up,” Dean asked from across the room. 

“Well, hunting isn’t allowed here in the park except by permit, which is not often; only when the wild hogs start to overrun the place,” Ranger Foster said. “I’d almost guess a predator but we haven’t seen anything to confirm it.” 

The words had barely left Ranger Foster’s mouth when the shrieking started. It seemed to echo from every side of the cabin. Although Ranger Foster didn’t seem too phased; he rushed to the laptop which was streaming the live feed from the camera few yards from the cabin. “That doesn’t sound like a wildcat. Or an owl,” he said to himself more than anyone. “What else could it be?”

Dean motioned to Sam and tossed him a flare gun from the backpack next to his feet. They both glanced at the ranger and then towards the large glass windows that ran the length of the cabin. 

“Sitting ducks, Sam,” Dean said quietly as the sound of something scratching on the glass grew nearer. “I told you, Scrabble and wildlife. Camping sucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment. I am going to try and upload as many chapters as I can tonight!


	5. Nesting Habits

Sam knew letting Ranger Foster stay with them was a mistake. Dean had tried to force the ranger into the small, windowless bathroom; but Ranger Foster insisted on staying out in the common area with Sam and Dean. The noises outside had been going steadily for hours. 

“We don’t know what it is,” Ranger Foster whispered from behind the kitchen counter. “It could be a bear. Or maybe even a panther.”

“Look, Ranger Rick,” Dean replied sarcastically as he eyed his pink backpack laying a few yards away on the table. “We do know what it is. And it’s not Yogi Bear. Or that cat from the Cheetos commercial-it’s a big, scary monster.”

“Dean,” Sam said with a stern tone. “Don’t.”

Dean sighed and turned back towards Sam. “Don’t what? Run for the backpack? Or tell him what’s outside toying with us?”

“Either,” Sam said quietly. 

“Wait-you’re the Feds. And you know what’s outside? Is it the reason people are disappearing,” Ranger Foster asked, fear registering in his eyes for the first time since the security feed had disengaged. “Is it part of a conspiracy? Is it something from that chemical company? I knew they were doing something illegal!”

“Chill out, would you,” Dean stated. “You’ve giving our location away with all your conspiracy theory crap. And no, it’s not whatever you’re thinking it is. Trust us on that.”

The noises that had been going on for the last three hours stopped, suddenly halting after a loud, harsh yowl pierced the dark night. The silence was deafening. Sam tensed up and waited to hear breaking glass, but it never came. They sat side by side, along the back of the kitchen counter until the first morning light pierced the sky and it was well after sunrise before they set foot outside of the cabin. 

Dean and Sam, flare guns in hand, checked around the cabin for signs of their nighttime visitor while Ranger Foster tried to get the video feed up and running. 

“Dean, are you seeing this,” Sam asked incredulously. “There are multiple sets of footprints. Wendigos don’t hunt in packs! And they don’t wear sneakers. They are at least five sets of prints here and at least one of them still has sneakers on.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said absently, looking at the cabin wall. “Look at this. It looks like it, or they, were marking the cabin and left something behind.” Dean ran his finger along the length of the scratch which was about a half inch deep and was two feet in length. He used his pocket knife to dig something out of the wood, when he managed to pry it out he held it up to show Sam. It was a fingernail, still sporting bright orange nail polish. 

“Go Volunteers,” Dean muttered. “There’s no way any person could have done this. But-they don’t hunt in packs. They’re reclusive, even from each other. And we know that it takes forever to change into a Wendigo; but we know this bunch is changing much faster than the norm. We better call Bobby and see if he’s ever heard of this.”

Sam nodded silently. He hated to admit it, but he was worried. One wendigo was a difficult hunt. He didn’t just want to call Bobby, he wanted to call every hunter within a hundred miles and ask them to jump on the crazy wagon and work the hunt together. Two hunters against at least five baby wendigos. Unheard of and not going to happen. 

Dean walked back around the cabin, looking for more clues while Sam got Bobby on the phone. Before he managed to pull Bobby’s number up he heard Dean swearing. 

“Sam! Look at this! We’re screwed,” Dean exclaimed angrily. Sam ran over and looked where Dean was pointing any accusatory finger. The ATV’s tires had been shredded. There was no way they we’re going to be able to use it now. And with the ranger’s truck gone they were in a worse position than they were last night. Dean stood staring at the immovable machine and suddenly yelled for the ranger. Ranger Foster walked hurriedly towards them while looking over his shoulder. The look of terror had yet to leave his face and Sam could already see the request for a desk job formulating in his head. “What’s wrong,” the ranger asked. 

“You have a gas can around here,” Dean asked gruffly. 

The ranger followed Dean’s gaze to the shredded tires and stood staring. Dean turned when he didn’t respond and gave his arm a smack. “Hey! Gas can, now!” 

“That’s not going-“the ranger started to say. 

“Yeah, thanks genius. Just get it,” Dean said. Ranger Foster glanced at the small supply shed that was a yards away, sitting just on the edge of the clearing. He timidly walked to the building while fiddling for the keys, obviously not wanting to be that close to the trees. 

“Dean, you’re scaring the poor guy. He doesn’t know what’s going on,” Sam said quietly. “He’s not a victim yet, but he’s pretty close. Cut him some slack.”

Dean turned and scrutinized the thin man walking towards him, gas can held so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “Fine, but we’re leaving out in an hour. Get your stuff,” Dean said. “See if there’s anything else in the cabin we can use.”

“For what exactly,” Sam asked. 

“Last night they toyed with us, we’re going to have hunt them down today. Right now. We know they’re holed up in the old mine. I say we collapse it, pump in the gas, and light them up,” Dean explained as though Sam were still five.

“We don’t know for sure that’s where they are, Dean. And if we get so far out tonight that we can’t get back here, well, even if we do make it back here; we might not survive the night without shelter. And what do you want to do with Ranger Foster? Leave him here? Take him with us,” Sam asked. “He’s a liability and also someone we need to protect.”

Dean turned back to the ATV. “I’m going to drain the tank. Get your stuff. Ranger Foster can either tag along or hole up here, up to him. 

Sam gave up talking to Dean, when he got in his commando mode there was no talking to him. Sometimes Sam just wanted to punch him for being like their dad. Sam walked back the cabin, leaving Dean to his own project. He went through the cabin and found a few more flare guns. He hesitated when he went to leave, going back into the cabin’s small bathroom. It was small but would do the trick. He carried a few cases of water inside, along with the boxes of dried fruit and crackers that hikers could have bought from the station. He tossed a blanket and pillow in the small bathtub and surveyed the room. The ranger would have to do some of it himself, but it was a good start. He grabbed his backpack and headed outside to find Dean. The ranger was standing on the porch watching Dean rummage through the supply shed. Sam stepped in front of him and waved to get his attention. 

“Ranger Foster, my partner and I are going to hunt this thing down. We’re depending on you to stay alive. When we leave I want you to barricade yourself into the bathroom. Take your satellite phone, your laptop, and if you’ve got a long range radio get that too. Flashlights, batteries, anything you might need to literally survive in that bathroom for days. I’m going to give you a phone number, I want you to call it and tell whoever answers that Sam and Dean are tracking the problem and need backup. He’ll give you a code word; you don’t come out of the bathroom without getting the right word from whoever is on the other side. Do you understand me,” Sam asked, searching Ranger Foster’s face. The man looked terrified, but Sam could see that having orders to follow made him relax slightly. 

Sam took the man’s hand and wrote Bobby’s phone number on it with the Sharpie marker he found in the cabin. “Call as soon as we leave, okay,” Sam reminded him.

“Can you two really kill this thing,” Ranger Foster asked. “What is it?”

“Here,” Sam said as he held out one of the flare guns. “If anything happens, use fire to kill it.”

“Sammy! Let’s go, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Dean called from the embankment, flare gun in one hand and a large gasoline can in the other, and his My Little Pony backpack tightly strapped to his back. 

“Ranger Foster, keep safe,” Sam said as he walked away. 

Sam didn’t turn around once he left the cabin but he could feel Ranger Foster’s gaze following them. He pulled out his cell and gave Bobby a call, the reception was sketchy but doable which was the only bit of luck they seemed to have. 

“Hey Bobby, its Sam and Dean,” Sam said into the phone, his eyes sweeping the towering trees and his other hand tightly gripping the flare gun. 

“You boy’s still in Tennessee,” Bobby said into the phone. “Figured you two would be done by this morning since I found the mine entrance yesterday.”

“Yeah well, it didn’t happen. We kind of got pinned down in a cabin last night,” Sam explained. “We’re headed there now. We need you to look into why the Wendigo are changing so quickly, we’re got a whole nest here.” 

“A nest,” Bobby exclaimed. “They don’t nest! What makes you think that?”

“Well, let’s not get into it right now, just know there’s a nest,” Sam explained as he scanned the trees. “At least five that we know of. We left a ranger behind, need someone to go and get him. He’s going to call you.”

“Fine, I’ll get someone nearby to swing by and get him,” Bobby said. “Look, the wendigo lore is pretty much the same as it was a century ago. There’s not much new to look through but I’ve got someone I can call. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Sam said as they hung up. He turned to Dean and said, “Bobby’s going to call back with some information hopefully. He’s also sending someone out to pick up Ranger Foster.”

“Good,” was Dean’s only reply. 

They walked in silence as the day wore on, keeping an ear out for any noises in the trees or underbrush. It was an hour before sunset that Dean held up a hand and motioned for Sam to crouch down. Dean hunkered down behind a rock and set the gas can down and motioned Sam to look ahead. Sam crept to the rock and peeked over it. HE could see the old mine shaft in the undergrowth. The entrance was certainly overgrown but there were certainly signs of trampled vegetation. 

Sam watched as suddenly a small wendigo seemed to slink out of the cave like entrance. It walked about five feet before a loud screech came from the tunnel. Sam couldn’t believe it as a much larger, and obviously more developed wendigo crept out of the cave and bullied the smaller one back into the tunnel with a loud snarl. Sam couldn’t believe it; the oldest was obviously keeping the newer wendigos from wandering off. It was the best guess to assume they were all inside; they had to move now to avoid getting caught. He motioned to gas can next to Dean, but Dean his hand away and dug a small device from his backpack. It was a small explosive, obviously homemade. He looked at Dean and held up a hand in question, he knew his brother had unusual skills in comparison to some people’s brothers but a homemade bomb was definitely something he didn’t expect. 

Dean just grinned devilishly and motioned to the mine, he figured if they could get it all done before night fall it would be a miracle but they had to sleep out here too. They needed time to set up a perimeter with the carvings from their dad and darkness was creeping in. They had to move quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, you heavenly readers!


	6. Batman and Sammy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deeply hope you guys are enjoying this, I loved writing it!

Sam wanted to stay together but the encroaching darkness forced them to split up. Managing to keep one hand on the flare gun, Dean crawled on his belly through the brush and managed to lodge his homemade pipe bomb onto the sloping roof line of the crumbling tunnel. It stood formidably in the brush, like the gaping maw of your own personal bogyman. 

Sam had in turn crept to a small clearing a few dozen feet from the mine entrance. He wanted to be further away, but it was the only obvious bunch of trees that could be used as a refuge while giving them a view of the mine. He pulled his carving knife from his pocket and began to carve the protection and repellent symbols from memory. He was in the middle of carving the third tree of the circle when he heard movement in the underbrush; there was the slight crunching of dried leaves, near his left although he knew Dean would have been near his right. He raised the flare gun and turned suddenly, leveling the flare gun right into Dean’s startled face. Dean would have yelping in surprise if Sam’s expression hadn’t changed from horrified to terrified. They both froze, eyes locked on each other. Dean watched Sam’s eyes moving from his to just over his right shoulder, his flare gun still pointed directly at Dean’s face. Sam’s eyes flicked back to Dean’s, lips moving without sound. Dean signaled with his eyes. He stood perfectly still, even when there was a burst of hot breath against his ear. The stench was so bad Dean could feel his stomach starting to roll. It was so close. He bet no other hunter would be able to recant this kind of experience, unless of course Sam was wrong; then even he wouldn’t be able to. Sam cleared his throat to get Dean’s attention; he could see his brother wavering in the shock of being so close to the retched monster. A loud, bone rattling wail filled the air and Dean’s eyes frantically met Sam’s own; Dean suddenly dropped to the ground. 

Sam instantly pulled the trigger, the wendigo was now standing exactly where Dean had been; barely an arm’s length away. As the wendigo let out one final howl as the flames quickly engulfed it, there was the loud explosion from the tunnel. Dirt and rocks flew past Sam and he too dropped to the ground, quickly shielding his head with his arms. When the dust settled he slowly unfolded himself from the protective stance he had taken. He quickly glanced around for Dean and saw that he was lying on his side in the grass. 

Not wanting call any more attention to them, Sam quietly but quickly crawled over to Dean. 

“Dean!” Sam whispered as he reached Dean. What he saw made his stomach drop. Dean was lying face to face with the dead wendigo. Dean’s eyes were locked on the wendigo’s hand which was barely an inch from his face. He was shaking, his breathing rapid, and the blood dripping from a large gash on his forehead which only made him look paler than he felt. He didn’t move until Sam grabbed his shoulder and hauled him upright.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. He looked frantically around the clearing. “Sammy!”

“Shhh,” Sam said quietly. “You need to be quiet. We don’t know for sure we got all of them.” 

“Got all what,” Dean asked, only slightly less loud in volume. 

Sam kneeled in front of Dean, using his hand to turn Dean’s face towards him. He fished the small penlight out of his backpack, all danger forgotten. He twisted it on and without warning, flashed Dean’s eyes with it. Sam swore when he saw the slow movement reaction time of Dean’s pupils. Dean in turn pulled away, and while trying to shield his eyes managed to smack himself in the face. 

Dean cried out and asked pitifully, “Why did you hit me, Sammy? I’m not the one leaving to go to college.” 

Sam pulled away from Dean like he had been punched. He sat on his haunches and looked his brother over. Head injury, goose egg size lump, light sensitivity, blown pupils, and confusion. It had been awhile since either brother had experienced a concussion, but Sam knew the drill. He began quizzing Dean, name first. Then location followed by the current hunt. Dean was only one for three. Sam looked at the wound, it wasn’t horrible but definitely needed a few stitches. Sam glanced towards the dust cloud that continued to hang over the tunnel entrance, then at the fading light that quickly dissipating. Safety first. 

Sam left Dean holding a gauze pad to his head while he quickly hacked the last of the protective symbols into the trees. He managed to finish just before the last of the sunlight faded. He pulled the camping lantern out of his bag and wished he had more supplies. 

“Sammy, if we don’t leave now we’re going to miss Dr. Sexy,” Dean said, a look of annoyance on his face. He kept removing the gauze from his head and trying to hand it to Sam. Sam shook his head and helped Dean lay down, a grade two concussion, a perfect way to start a night in the woods. 

“We’re going to go camping Dean,” Sam explained. “But before we can go to sleep, I need to put a stitch or two in your forehead. Okay?”

“Why,” Dean asked, a tone of sudden paranoia setting in. 

Sam pulled Dean’s handful of bloody gauze into Dean’s range of view. Sam would later remember that as a mistake; Dean took one look at the bloody gauze and suddenly vomited in the grass. 

Ten minutes later, Sam had managed to move their makeshift camp a few yards away and made another attempt at Dean’s injury. Only this time, he asked Dean to count for him. As Dean tried to figure what came after eleven, Sam threaded the needle from the first aid kit he had brought along for just these Winchester luck related injuries. He pulled the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the box and quickly used another gauze pad to wipe across the cut causing Dean to hiss and forget what number he still couldn’t remember. It wasn’t as deep as Sam had originally thought, but had continued to bleed for over 20 minutes. He haphazardly doused some of it onto his hands trying to clean them as best as he could. Sam hesitated as he held the needle in position.

“Dean, in a fight between the Green Lantern and Spiderman, who would win,” Sam asked as he scrutinized the gash near Dean’s hairline. 

Dean, already confused by attempting to count, began to stare into space; obviously attempting to formulate an answer to the now important question. Sam pinched the edges of the split skin together and winced as he pushed the needle through. Dean didn’t seem to notice the slight pulling sensation caused by the nylon thread; he only glanced back and forth as his lips moved slightly. Sam snipped the thread and started again. After the fifth stitch Sam was satisfied with his work and smeared a little pack of triple antibiotic ointment over the wound. He taped a folded piece of gauze over the now tidy wound. 

Sam washed his hands again with the rubbing alcohol and cleaned up the supplies, putting everything back into the first aid kit. He placed the lantern near Dean’s face so he could see his progress and slipped the flare gun into his pocket after he pulled his gray hoodie on. He was just settling in for a long night when Dean suddenly sat up straight and said, “Neither would win. Because I’m the Batman.”

“Well good for you Batman, but you need to sleep. We have a big walk back to civilization tomorrow. But first we’re going to sit here all night while we listen for any straggler wendigos,” Sam explained as Dean pulled his jacket around him like a cape. 

“Fine Robin, we’ll do this your way,” Dean muttered tiredly. “But don’t think you’re driving the bat mobile.”

The next morning Sam woke to the sound of crows, obviously fussing about only things birds can care about. He lay in the damp grass and listened for any other movement. He lifted his head when he didn’t hear anything, not even Dean. Sam quickly sat up and looked over to where Dean had fallen asleep. There was an obvious place in the grass where Dean had slept, but Dean was nowhere to be seen. 

Sam glanced around, figuring Dean had probably slipped away to attend to his morning needs. He waited for a few minutes before calling out, “Dean!”

Only the crows replied. Sam stood up and stretched as he glanced around the confines of their symbol laden refuge. Dean wasn’t inside the perimeter. In fact, neither was his backpack. Sam felt himself begin to panic and began yelling, “DEAN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't make me break out the talking board to get a comment out of you! Do your readerly duty!


	7. Two Men Enter, One Man Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many more to post! This is exciting!

Sam was exhausted. He had been trailing Dean through the state national forest for the last five hours. After determining that Dean wasn’t in the immediate area, Sam had packed up the few supplies he had; he decided to ditch the gas can as it was cumbersome to carry. He had carefully searched around where Dean had been asleep and determined that Dean had walked away, not been taken. He had breathed a short sigh of relief, a slightly disoriented Dean aimlessly wandering was better than a disoriented Dean that had been the victim of a sneak attack kidnapping. 

As Sam continued to walk, face cast downward as he followed Dean’s trail, he replayed the night’s events. Dean had continued to ramble for about an hour before finally falling asleep; meanwhile Sam had kept watch while listening for any wendigo who may have returned to the tunnel. During his watch, he woke Dean up once per hour and by about 4am Sam noticed that Dean was showing definite improvement in coordination, as seen in his ability to smack Sam directly in the face and also in his thought processing, as noted when he recited the both he and Sam’s social security numbers although he failed to recite the impala’s license plate number. Sam figured he himself must have fallen asleep at approximately 5am. That meant Dean had the maximum potential of a two hour head start. 

Sam stumbled when the terrain suddenly changed from uneven and rocky to a smooth, graded hiking trail. He used to his binoculars to glance down both directions of the trail and was disappointed when he didn’t see Dean on either end. Sam walked back into the brush where he had last seen Dean’s trail. It ended where it crossed the hiking trail. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to restrain his frustration and the panicked yell he was holding in. He sat down next to the trail and considered his options. Finding Dean was the only option. But how to find him was the problem. The national forest covered several thousand acres and it was covered in rough terrain and infested with deadly wildlife. 

Sam pulled out his cellphone and checked for a signal and fumed as he angrily stuffed it back into his backpack when he saw “No service” flashing on the screen. He could have the GPS on Dean’s phone turned on, but without a signal for Dean to pick up, it would be wasted; and who knew how long the battery life would survive on Dean’s phone. He knew he needed to report Dean’s disappearance to the forestry department, but considering they had already lost several people in the last few months Sam wasn’t sure they would be effective in finding Dean.

He pulled the map out of his back pocket and glanced over it briefly before he realized where he was, a mere two miles from the cabin where he and Dean had left Ranger Foster. Sam folded the map up and turned down the walking trail, heading back to civilization empty handed, just as so many other families had done recently. As the forestry cabin came into view, Sam was relieved to see a truck out front. He recognized it as the one Ranger Foster had loaned out in trade of the ATV. 

As Sam walked up the cabin steps, Ranger Foster was hurrying out of the cabin with a duffel bag. “Ranger Foster, have you seen my partner,” Sam hurriedly asked. “He went missing early this morning. I’ve been trailing him, but I lost the trail about two miles from here.”

“I haven’t seen anyone since Alice dropped my truck off an hour ago, and before that it was when you two left me here. Alone! I’m cashing in my 401K and moving to Florida. What the hell is out here in the woods?! Wanna grab a box and help me get the hell out of here,” Ranger Foster asked as he pushed past Sam. 

“No! My partner is missing. He had an accident last night and wandered off with a concussion,” Sam started firmly. “Now, I need you to give me a lift into town.”

Ranger Foster walked towards the truck and called back to Sam, “Lock the door! We’re leaving.”

It was a long drive to town and every mile made Sam more and more aware just how far away Dean probably was. It was nearly two hours before Sam climbed into the Impala and set off for their cabin.   
When he turned the Impala off he didn’t get out of the car. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Bobby; it seemed they rarely called with anything but bad news. This certainly qualified as bad news. 

The phone rang several times before Sam hung up. He sat in the car until he managed to formulate a search plan. He hurried into the cabin and turned on the laptop. Enable the GPS first, alert the local authorities, and call Bobby. 

Sam nearly lost it when the cell network GPS stated that no signal could be found. He had the laptop poised for certain death over the wooden table when his cell phone went off. Bobby. 

Sam knew he sounded exhausted but the fear in his voice surprised even him. It immediately put Bobby on edge and sent him into parental mode. 

“Sam! What’s wrong? Are you okay? What about Dean,” Bobby demanded. “What happened on the hunt?”

“I’ve lost him Bobby,” Sam muttered into the phone. 

The silence over the phone was deafening and it took a second for Sam to realize how his remark had sounded. “He’s not dead Bobby! God-I’m sorry for making it sound that way,” Sam said apologetically. “He’s missing. He wandered off this morning and I spent the day trailing him, but I lost his trail where it hit a hiking trail.”

“Well, why the hell would he have wandered off? He knows you never split up on a wendigo hunt,” Bobby said angrily. 

“He wasn’t really thinking straight, Bobby,” Sam explained. “We managed to collapse the mine entrance, but Dean… Well, being Dean he got the brunt of it. He ended up a grade two concussion and five stitches in his forehead.”

“Well, how did he end up wandering off,” Bobby asked. 

“I fell asleep,” Sam admitted quietly. “He must have woken up and gotten some idea he needed to go do something.”

Bobby was silent for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Well, I imagine you’ve already torn yourself a new asshole, or else I’d be doing it for you. Okay, what was he like the last time you woke him up,” Bobby asked. 

“He was more coordinated for sure; he smacked me for waking him up for the tenth time. He was able to recite our social security numbers, but he couldn’t even give me the first digit on the Impala’s license plate,” Sam said. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I’m going to hope that as his head clears, he will be able to navigate out of the forest. You said you lost his trail where it ran into a hiking trail,” Bobby asked. Sam could hear paper rustling over the phone and imagined Bobby’s desk being covered by a large map of Cherokee National Forest. 

“Yeah, it just ended. But the hiking trail is pretty hard packed,” Sam explained as he tried to unlace his boots with one hand. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve already turned his GPS on,” Bobby said. “Cause if you just put me through all this crap for nothing, I’m going to wring your scrawny neck.”

“Yeah Bobby,” Sam said with a tired chuckle. “I already turned it on. There’s no signal. And that could mean that his battery has died or he’s out of range, which is nearly the entire forest.”

“Or he’s underground,” Bobby stated.

“Wait! What do you mean,” Sam asked, his panic kicking up a notch.

“Are you sure you got all the wendigos? You said you found a nest. Are you sure you got them all,” Bobby asked patiently.

“We assumed they were all in the mine but we didn’t really have the opportunity to do a head count,” Sam explained. “We have no idea how many there were to start with, although we knew of at least five. I burned one and we had visual confirmation that at least two others were in the mine.”

“Well, that leaves at least two possibly still alive. And angry,” Bobby said. “What about the locals?” 

“Well, I spoke with a forest ranger this morning. They’re going to pass it on and get the ball rolling but they’re already out in full force looking for all of the other missing people,” Sam stated. “I’m going to get better outfitted and head back out.”

“How much sleep you get last night, Sam,” Bobby asked. “You know that you’ve got to be on your toes hunting for wendigos or Dean.”

“I got about two hours of sleep,” Sam said as he dug clean clothes out of his duffel bag. He tossed the clean clothes onto his bed and paused as he considered Bobby’s comment.

“Meaning what,” Sam asked. 

“I’m saying that you need to get some sleep,” Bobby said. “You can’t go rambling through the forest half exhausted. If Dean’s still out of it, he could shoot you. Even on his worst day, I wouldn’t want to try to catch him. If he’s come to his senses, he’ll be holed up for the night and you could walk right past him. And besides, I’m guessing that Dean’s armed, right?”

“Always,” Sam replied. “He’s got about four flare guns along with his usual arsenal.”

“Okay, I’m going to make one suggestion before you go tearing back into the woods exhausted and armed,” Bobby said. “Get one hour of sleep, eat something, and call me back. We’re going to have to partner up to do some long distance hunting. You can’t be running around without letting someone know where you’re headed and how long you’re going to be gone for. You could go missing just as easily.”

Sam considered Bobby’s argument. He had a few good points, but this was his brother. This was Dean. But he knew Bobby was right, he was so tired he was having a hard time trying to pull his socks off. He sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “Okay, fine. Any chance you can come out here?”

“I would already be in the car, except I have another job I’m trying to finish up,” Bobby said apologetically. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, you keep me posted on everything you do. Everywhere you go. You so much as buy ammunition; I want to know about it.”

Sam laughed tiredly. “Fine, you mind if I get a shower now?”

“That’s more like it, take care of yourself and then worry about Dean. I’ll bet you twenty bucks he’s already come to his senses and has talked his way into some pretty camper’s tent,” Bobby said, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

“Probably,” Sam replied. “I’ll call you in a few.” 

“Alright Sam,” Bobby said as he hung up his phone. He looked around his somewhat dimly lit house and imagined Dean never walking through his back door again, covered in grease, wanting to know if Bobby has any cold beer in the fridge. 

Bobby sighed and set a large leather bound book on his table and opened it to a rather old script. He turned around and looked at the young man, tied to a chair, under the devil’s trap painted on his ceiling. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got something a little more pressing that your petty demon crap,” Bobby said he began the exorcism. 

Meanwhile, several states away, Sam was trying to use the small shower in the cabin. It was narrow and the shower head was several inches shorter than Sam. He was pretty sure his skull was fractured after about the fifth time of smacking his head into it, but the hot water was pure heaven. 

After checking for ticks and poison ivy, he finally allowed himself to drop onto his bed. He tossed and turned for an hour before he gave up and fired up the laptop. He needed to find Dean and he would utilize every option out there. And once Sam found him, they were never going into the woods again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you hear the literary news? Comments and reviews are better than a multivitamin for productivity! Protect the health of your authors, start leaving comments for every one that you read!


	8. Peter Rabbit vs Colt .45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite chapters!!! Love a concussed Dean!

Dean knew he was lost. He also knew he had been hallucinating for some time. Deep down he knew-just knew- that there was no vampire bunny following him. But some part of him believed it, enough that he was carrying a pointed stick in one hand and his Colt .45, cocked and ready to go, in the other. 

He stumbled again as he tried to casually glance behind him, desperate to get a look at how close his furry nemesis had gotten. His stumble turned into a full on face plant into the underbrush causing him to moan deeply. Where was Sam? Had the bunny taken him down before coming after Dean?

Dean paused when he heard a branch snap nearby. He slowly raised his head from the ground and found himself looking down onto a meadow, a few hundred feet away. He tried to squint through the fog that had been slowly beginning to drift through the trees as the sun had begun to set. He could barely make out a person, a really, really, tall person. He froze when he saw the arms hanging a little too low and the elongated hands. A wendigo. 

Dean chuckled quietly. The bunny he could account for, after all, he had no proof that there wasn’t a rogue vampire bunny in the national forest. But a wendigo-well, he and Sam had killed them all by burying them in the tunnel with his homemade pipe bomb. He knew he was hallucinating then. After all, how else could he account for the large goose egg size bump on his forehead, the telltale stitches he could feel near his hairline, and the fact that his head felt the size of the Impala? 

Dean waited until his head had cleared a little bit and the wendigo had disappeared. He knew then it was just him and the bunny. Nothing could come between him and the bunny. After all, it had gotten Sam. Maybe it had turned him. Into a vampire or bunny, Dean couldn’t be sure. But he knew he had to keep moving. 

Meanwhile, back in reality, Sam was concerned. As usual, his puppy dog eyes were poised for someone to reassure him that everything would be okay, that things could be okay. But he knew the odds were against him. He had filled out missing persons paperwork before, but it had been awhile and to be honest Sam was starting to panic. Not in a small way either. He had the tight restricted breathing, the sweaty hands, and a blood pressure that would have landed anyone else into the hospital .He had been filling out paperwork for over an hour and every second he wasted sitting down with a clipboard in his hand, he imagined Dean being torn apart by a wendigo, or falling into a rocky crevice, or being mauled by any one of the several predatory animals known to live in the park. 

Before Sam even realized it, he was standing up, white knuckling the clipboard, and towering over the man behind the counter. “Who hunts around here,” Sam demanded. 

“What kind of hunting do you want to do,” the young officer asked, craning his neck up to look at Sam. 

Sam hesitated. He wanted everyone who had ever hunted anything, but he needed to be more specific or else he’d end up in the nuthouse. “Bloodhounds, beagles, I don’t care if it’s a damn poodle; who hunts with dogs around here?”

The young man leaned back into the chair and stared at Sam. He wrote down a phone number without even looking at the paper. He held it up to Sam and said, “You need to hope for the best, but you need to prepare for the worst. Your partner is one of several people to go missing on those trails.”

Sam restrained his anger as he tried to gently set the clipboard on the desk, but it still sounded like a gunshot going off. He slid the clipboard across the desk, holding the man’s eye contact all the while, and said, “Then don’t you think you better be getting to work? With all these missing people around, I’d think you would be a little faster about processing their paperwork.”

Sam rushed out of the police station and was forced to stop when a waved of dizziness hit him hard. He would have gone all the way down but he was able to steady himself on the Impala’s hood. He placed both hands in the hood and was amazed to find that his hands were trembling. From anger or fear, he didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine a life without Dean; he had never been alone in his entire life. Even at Stanford, he knew that Dean had occasionally stopped by to make sure he was doing okay. 

Sam stood there for a few minutes and watched as the sun began to set. Dean had been missing for approximately fifteen hours. All he could do was hope that Dean had found some shelter and could handle the exposure, which was a common killer among people lost in the outdoors. 

It was dark when Sam pulled the Impala up to the cabin. He didn’t want to go in; Dean’s clothes, weapons, and other personal items were there. Just little reminders that someone else should be there, but wasn’t. Sam sat there for several minutes before he hauled himself out of the car and let himself into the cabin. He didn’t even bother to look in the kitchenette for something to eat; he had a one track mind. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed up Bobby. 

“Agent Weiss here,” Bobby stated rather professionally. 

“Agent Weiss, huh,” Sam asked. “Really?”

“Oh, I thought maybe you were someone else. I heard that a hunter got pinched in Alabama and might be looking for some “higher authority” to get released from jail,” Bobby explained. “How you holding up? You sound half dead.”

“I spent the evening filling out paperwork for the police department and the forestry department. Due to the fact that so many people have gone missing, and also because he was injured, they agreed to waive the typical waiting period. I’ve got his picture up at every entrance and exit to the park. The forest rangers told me there’s nothing more to do except wait, but I can’t sit and wait,” Sam said as he pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. “I’ve got the number for a hunter, not like us, but a tracker. Uses dogs. Thought I might give him a call and see if he can help me out.”

“Is the forestry department going to give you any trouble about taking hunting dogs into a protected park,” Bobby asked. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t do the same thing. But you want the locals on your side, not in your way.”

“I already spoke with a ranger. As long as the dogs are tagged and up to date on rabies they are good to go. I guess once in a while they let hunters in to take down the wild hog population,” Sam explained. 

“Well, what are hell are you waiting for then,” Bobby said. “Call him and get the ball rolling.”

“How long until you can make it out here, Bobby,” Sam asked. He was trying to not sound pathetic but knew Bobby could pick up on it. He heard Bobby sigh and begin to rustle some papers. 

“I’d like to be there already Sam. But there have been a lot of low level demon possessions popping up in the Midwest and I’ve got everyone calling me for information. I’m trying to get the phones rerouted to an old friend but I’m having a hard time getting it taken care of. I might just set up the old answering machine and put her number as the emergency contact while I’m helping you out,” Bobby said. 

“You seriously mean there’s a Bobby replacement somewhere,” Sam asked incredulously. “I always figured you were the only one.”

“You think I’m running the entire hunting empire out of my salvage yard,” Bobby asked with a chuckle. “There are plenty of us who man the phones, hunt down the books, and have panic rooms. We’re the ones who like having our own beds to come home to.”

“So where is he located,” Sam asked curiously. 

“It’s a she. And she’ll kill me if I tell anyone,” Bobby said seriously. “Last time we met she broke my nose and threatened to kill me in my sleep if I ever called her again.”

“Sounds like she likes you Bobby,” Sam said trying not to laugh. For a minute he was able to forget about his current problems and made a mental note to tell Dean. 

“Idjit. She’s a colleague and not someone to mess with. I’d be calling her to help you since she’s closer to you than I am, but she has a unique problem,” Bobby explained. “Either way, I’ll be there as quick as I can manage, son. You hang in there and keep looking. He’ll turn up.”

“I hope you’re right Bobby,” Sam said as he hung up.

The next morning proved to be cool, overcast, and damp; much like the morning that Sam and Dean had first begun their hunt into the state forest. Sam was impatiently waiting for the hunter, a man named Buck Thompson, who supposedly had attempted to help the forestry department when the first hiker went missing. 

Sam was double checking his bag for the fifth time when the sound of a rundown pickup truck reached his ears. It was several minutes before the truck turned the corner into the small parking lot that served as one of the smaller entrances to the park’s hiking trails. Sam was anxious to get moving but was taken aback by Buck’s appearance. He had to be pushing eighty years old, had a noticeable cataract in one eye, and used a cane to walk over to Sam. 

“You’re Sam I guess,” Buck asked as he opened the door to the large metal dog crate that filled the back of his pickup truck. 

“Yessir,” Sam replied. They both took a minute to observe the other; Buck was the first to speak, “You sure you wanna do this, son? These dogs are pretty spry and can be difficult to keep up with.”

Sam couldn’t help it as the anxious and panicked laugh burst out of his mouth. “Seriously? No offense but you’re using a cane,” Sam said as he hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders. “I can keep up.”

Buck chuckled and tapped his cane on the hard packed dirt and said, “We’ll see who gets tired first, young man, cause they’re buying dinner.”

“Deal,” Sam said as he shook the man’s gnarled hand. “You want to see where I last saw him? How does this work?”

“You bring me what I asked,” Buck asked. “It’s gotta be something that smells like him, the stronger the better.”

Sam used the key to open the Impala truck. It opened silently; Sam had tightened down the secret compartment already and didn’t worry about having to do any unnecessary explaining. He pulled a stained army duffel bag out of the truck and held it up for Buck to see. 

“His laundry, he skipped the Laundromat and hadn’t washed any of it yet. It’s pretty rank,” Sam admitted as he set it on the ground. 

Buck eyed the stained bag, wondering how many of the stains were probably blood and said, “Perfect. Let’s get a move on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearly hope you got a chuckle out of this chapter. If not, I will try harder!


	9. The Great Granola Giveaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there by monsters!

Sam was surprised when he did actually have a hard time keeping up with Buck and the basset hound, Kip. He chalked it up to being overly tired and on unfamiliar terrain. But he felt relief for the first time since Dean had disappeared. Doing something, anything, was better than just formulating a plan. This was productive. 

Buck paused a few yards ahead of Sam and called back, “I’m getting mighty hungry young man. Keep up!”

Sam chuckled and increased his pace, catching up with the elderly man in a few strides. “You been hunting with dogs a long time, sir?”

“Oh, about sixty years or so. I’ve been training them since I was just a pup myself. My first tracker was a dachshund-you know, a wiener dog-she was the best tracker I ever trained,” Buck explained. “I wish she was still alive, there’s not a doubt in my mind she could have found those hikers. But Kip-he’s the second best.” 

Sam nodded along and used his binoculars to scan the area. He watched as the dog, which was in what Buck explained was the searching phase, trying to root out Dean’s scent. The basset hound moved quickly, taking short, quick sniffs. They were only a few dozen yards from where Sam and Dean had forced to camp when Kip suddenly changed tactics. He slowed down and began to take longer sniffs along the ground. Sam started to open his mouth, but Buck held a hand in the air to quiet him. Sam watched as Kip bound back to Buck, long ears flapping away. The dog let out a yip and headed back for the trail it had discovered. 

Buck turned to Sam and explained, “This is the deciding phase, where Kip has found the scent and has to carefully determine the smell we want from the smells we don’t. It’s the most difficult.”

Sam stood quietly, sending a prayer to anyone listening that the dog would lead the way to Dean. Kip suddenly changed direction and began to walk more quickly while leading them away from the campsite. 

Buck nodded proudly. “He’s in tracking phase now. He’s got the scent. Let’s hope he can keep it.”

Several hours later, Sam was sitting in a booth at a small diner in Copperhill. It sat on the edge of the old rail yard. Buck was presently digging into a small basket of French fries, with a gusto that made Sam miss Dean even more. “I’m sorry, son. It was the same with all the other missing hikers, the scent just disappeared. I can bring a few more dogs out tomorrow if you like, but I’d put money down it’ll turn out the same way.”

Sam was looking forlornly at his own sandwich, which tasted of failure and disappointment. Buck had graciously offered to overlook their previous agreement, but Sam had insisted on taking Buck for the dinner he owed the man. Kip even waited patiently in the back of the pickup truck for the burger Sam had promised the dog. 

Sam shook his head, trying to keep his head in the conversation. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to try it. I’ll do anything to find him,” Sam said. 

Buck sat back and scrutinized Sam. “Out of my own nosiness, why are you the one looking? Doesn’t your partner have any family worried about him?”

Sam cleared his throat and look down at his food before looking back at Buck. “He’s my responsibility. And we’re more than just partners, we’re brothers,” Sam explained, hoping that Buck wouldn’t question it further. 

Buck eyed his over the top of his coffee. “Well, then we have even more reason to find him. We’ll meet up at the same place tomorrow morning. Bring overnight gear. We might get lucky and find his trail again.”

Sam tossed a few bills onto the table and followed Buck out of the restaurant. He opened up the greasy paper bag and broke the burger into small pieces and tossed them to Kip, one at a time. Buck shook his head, grinning, and said, “Don’t spoil that dog now. He’s got more work to do tomorrow.”

Sam watched as Buck and Kip drove away. He realized then just how badly he didn’t want to go back to the cabin. He climbed into the Impala and drove to the local dive, might as well make some money, Dean was likely to need medical care and fake insurance only got you so far. 

Meanwhile, in the forest it was dark. Not even moonlit, just pitch black. Dean had holed up under a low hanging crevice at the base of large rocky embankment. His head hurt less and his stitches itched terribly. But Dean knew from experience, the pain of touching them would far exceed the aggravation of the itch. He sat with his back to the rock wall, gun in hand. He had come to his senses hours ago, but even with that taken care of, he had no idea what had happened. He assumed that he and Sam had gotten separated, but as for the details he didn’t know how it had happened. He knew he was still lost, but luckily he still had the hated My Little Pony backpack strapped to his back. What he couldn’t account for was the live rabbit he had found in his backpack, apparently, Dean had filled the bag with grass and leaves to make a warm bunny nest. Luckily, it hadn’t helped itself to the granola bars Sam had packed into the bag. Dean felt through the bag blindly, looking for a bottle of water. 

“Ah-Sammy, I would never admit it, but your mother hen ways saved the day,” Dean said aloud. He was munching through a chocolate chip granola bar when he heard slight movement in the brush nearby. He paused his chewing into order to hear better, the movement paused briefly a few yards away. Dean kept still and thought to himself, “Probably a deer.” 

He was two more bites into the granola bar when another thought entered his mind-wendigo. He quickly stuffed the granola wrapper into his pocket and pulled out a flare gun. He wished he had a flashlight, and he was willing to bet that Sam had packed one, but it was unaccounted for in his bag. Damn bunny nest. 

Dean tried to stay still, willing his heartbeats to stop clogging up his ears, and tried to listen for any movement. He moved into a crouched position to better defend himself. He knew that if it was a Wendigo and he ran, he wouldn’t make it. They were remarkable in the daylight and even more deadly by night. He could kiss his ass goodbye and he was pretty fond of it. He hoped Sammy was somewhere safe, he hadn’t seen any sign of him anywhere and his cellphone was dead. Not that he expected to find a signal anyways. 

Dean flinched as he heard the noise coming closer to him. It was barely discernible, but he could almost imagine the careful, deliberate steps being taken while trying to avoid the worst of the fallen twigs and leaves. It paused and when it resumed Dean could hear the slight sound of loose gravel being disturbed, it didn’t make the predictable sound of hoof on rock, and Dean instantly knew it wasn’t a deer. 

He raised the flare gun and drew in a breath. Flare gun or Colt .45, it was all the same to him; the means to take out a fugly. One that wanted to eat him. And if there was one thing Dean Winchester hated more than witches, it was anything that wanted to eat him. He waited until he felt the warm, rank breath on his face and pulled the trigger. Dean felt something grab his leg and his aim went wild.

There was a loud, blinding flash and Dean could make out a Wendigo quickly moving back from him. It let out a curdling screech and seemed to look out into the trees. From the flare, still burning brightly on the large rock outcrop where it had fallen, Dean watched as another Wendigo walked out of the trees. Behind it, Dean could see another set of glowering eyes. And then another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got plenty more to post! Keep on commenting, I'm thinking about brewing up another of these stories.


	10. Of Mystery Meat and River Rocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwahahhaaha! You came back for more! Most excellent!

Dean tried to open his eyes, but the pounding in his head only got worse every time he tried. He knew he was hanging by his arms. Not a good sign when the last thing you remember is a wendigo dragging you by your legs over the rough terrain of the forest. He cringed as he felt his shirt sticking to his back, it was sticky and he was fairly certain it was blood; he could imagine twigs and maybe gravel embedded into his skin from being dragged. 

He groaned as the pounding in his head increased. He almost wished he was in the typical wendigo prey coma, at least then he could sleep until Sammy came and saved his ass. Dean squinted an eye open and glanced around the cavernous room. He couldn’t see anyone else with him. He hoped Sammy wasn’t anywhere nearby, unless he was loose, armed, and here to save him. Dean wished he had his backpack, as much as he hated it, it would have been something handy to have now. He was surprisingly hungry and as for thirst, well, he wouldn’t turn down a cold one. 

He tried to pull himself loose from the vines that were bound tightly around him, biting into his skin. The more he struggled they tighter they seemed; he felt himself begin to panic and forced himself to stop moving. 

He was trying to pull in calm, slow breaths when he heard a noise. His breath caught in his chest and he nearly choked. His chest burned as he tried to hold in the desperate cough that wanted to explode from his mouth. He was pretty sure the wendigo hadn’t forgotten him, but really-who wants to remind the insatiably hungry monster that their next dinner was just hanging around waiting to get filleted. 

Dean could barely make see the outline of the wendigo as it hunched down to fit inside the cavern he was strung up in. He could feel its breath on his face and gagged as the stench of decomposition and death seemed to fill up the room. Dean braced himself, waiting for the deathblow. Or would it eat him alive and screaming?

Dean felt something brush his cheek, it was wet and nasty feeling. He was tempted to tell the fugly to go find some other hiker to munch, but he missed his chance when an incredible cold, strong hand forced his jaw open. Dean was too shocked to do anything but choke and sputter as the wet nasty substance was shoved into his mouth. He gagged as the cold, rough fingers shoved it far back into his throat. He tried pushing with his tongue, he tried biting, and after several minutes of trying to rid himself of the nasty, coppery tasting thing he knew he had to swallow in order to breath.

As soon as he swallowed, the hand disappeared and he was able to breathe again. He listened as the light footsteps shuffled away. He continued to swing from the ceiling, a cold pit forming in his stomach. He tried to force himself to vomit, but he couldn’t do it. 

Dean racked his brain for any memory of a wendigo feeding its prey but he couldn’t remember anything from all of Sammy’s research. The more Dean tried to keep on track, planning escape, plotting how to kill the wendigo; the more his thoughts began to ramble. He caught himself twice, trying to redirect his thoughts to his current problem. The cold pit in his stomach began to spread, making his chest begin to burn. The cold, icy sensation began to lace down his legs making his feet numb. He tried to panic when it moved to his hands, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Dean couldn’t tell how much time passed between visits from the wendigo. It seemed to visit often, more often than Dean cared for. Every time it did, Dean was force fed another mouthful of the chewy, coppery substance. It occurred to him that by feeding him, the Wendigo was prolonging his life; but Dean was pretty sure he didn’t want to know why.

Sometime Later:

“Bobby! You have to get down here! I don’t care how many demons you’re dealing with right now,” Sam yelled angrily into the phone. “Dean is still MISSING! Why aren’t you here?”

Sam sighed when the answering machine beeped and disconnected the call. Sam tossed the phone on the bed and dropped into a chair. He was exhausted. He had spent two weeks in the forest hunting with Buck and the hounds; setting up camp every night and breaking it down every morning. They had finally headed back to town after Buck ran out of his high blood pressure medication. Sam had been unable to hide his disappointment and Buck had offered to continue with the search but Sam knew the dogs couldn’t find the trail. Sam had checked his voicemail the second he managed to get his phone charged up. He had found voicemails from the TN and GA police stations, both notifying him that while the investigation was still open they were moving on to newer cases that could be solved. He also found several from Bobby, each more apologetic than the last. 

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. He desperately needed a shower and a shave, he had sprouted a full beard; something Dean had always threatened to kill him over. Sam caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, with his beard he looked more like his dad than he thought possible. He cringed and stepped into the hot water, imagining what kind of things his dad might be yelling at him if he knew Dean was missing. And not just missing, in the typical missing Winchester fashion, he was missing in the dozens of days kind of way. The kind of way that made Sam want to plaster Dean’s face on every mailbox, telephone pole, and quite possibly the milk carton if they still did that kind of thing. 

As Sam dug through his duffel bag for anything clean to wear he considered any other way to find Dean. After all, with what they know, how could there not be another way to find him? Sam scoured John’s journal looking for anything he could use to find him. Sam thumbed past pages of Latin text, strange drawings, and finally landed on the page regarding crossroad demons. He hesitated and thumbed past it. If he sold his soul to get Dean back, Dean would never forgive him. He could already hear the “idjit this, idjit that” lecture Bobby would give him. 

Sam tossed the journal back onto the bed next to his phone. He started to stuff all his laundry into another duffel bag to make a trip to the Laundromat when he stepped on a river rock that had fallen out of his pocket. He picked it up and set it on his bedside table. 

It was about two hours after he lay down to try and get some sleep when he woke with a jolt. He sat up in bed, scrambling to turn the lamp on. As soon it flickered on, he picked up the smooth, gray rock and smiled. He knew what he could try next. A quick look in the journal gave him an old address that Sam prayed was still good. Looking at the clock, he leapt to get dressed and headed for the Impala; slowly driving past the few other occupied cabins. It was sunrise when he reached his destination, a small single wide trailer which was nestled on the backside of a large hill that overlooked a small creek. 

Sam hesitated at the chained, rusted gate. He parked the Impala, stuffed a hundred dollar bill under the windshield wiper, and resolved to be patient. He wouldn’t have to wait long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean...but isn't that why we write? And read?


	11. Proof of Life, in a Cereal Bowl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I kind of used some vague information here to build what I hoped was decent imagery. Hope you enjoy!

Sam woke to someone tapping the driver’s side window. He slowly opened his eyes and turned to see a young woman tapping the window with the barrel of her sawed off shotgun. He sat still while she pocketed the money and waved for him to slowly get out of the car. 

Once he was standing, he realized just how small she was, barely five foot and probably not much more than a hundred pounds. “Leave any weapons in the car,” she said firmly. “You want our help, you do it our way.”

Sam slowly unloaded all of his weapons into the trunk. Once she was satisfied he was no longer armed she lower her gun and motioned him to follow her. She shoved the rusted gate open and said, “You’re lucky you got here this early. We have an appointment in a few hours and you would have had to wait. How did you find us anyways?”

Sam nodded and asked, “My dad had the address in his hunting journal. It didn’t have a phone number or I would have called first.”

“No point,” the girl said. “If we handed out the number, hunters would want phone consultations and it’s hard to get paid for those. We don’t do freebies.”

“Out of curiosity, what’s the normal rate,” Sam asked, he only had a few hundred dollars left from hustling pool.

The girl shrugged. “Depends on what you’re looking for and what it takes to find it,” she said. 

“I’m looking for my brother. He’s lost somewhere-“

“No point in telling me,” she said with a shrug, interrupting him. “You can save it for Martha; she’s the one you want.”

Sam glanced at the girl, she seemed unconcerned. He shook his head, this was business to her. It wasn’t like it was her brother missing. When they reached the rickety steps they paused. “You can head in, Martha’s inside. I’ll stay out here,” she said as she scanned the dirt road, clutching her gun to her chest. 

The inside of the trailer was dim and the stench of incense burned Sam’s nose. Why gypsies always burned the stuff he didn’t know, it didn’t help them with anything, Sam thought to himself. 

“On the contrary young man, it helps a great deal,” Martha said. Sam turned and spotted her, she looked by far older than Sam would have imagined. Her black hair was braided and pinned to her head in a crown, her dark eyes clouded with cataracts. 

“I’m Sam-“

“I know who you are,” Martha said as she gestured to a chair across the table. “I met your daddy a few years back when he was looking for a demon. Anyhow, what do you need?”

“My brother’s missing, has been missing for weeks actually,” Sam explained, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice. “He went missing while hunting wendigo.”

Martha closed her eyes and began to nod as Sam began to recap the search from the beginning. “I can see you’ve been diligent in your search. But I don’t see you getting any closer,” Martha said. “What exactly made you think I would be able to help you?”

Sam pulled the small gray river rock out of his pocket and set it on the table between them. Martha smiled when she saw the stone, picking it up and rolling it in her hands. “A believer I see,” she said coyly. “There aren’t many who would think of scrying.” 

Martha rolled the stone between her hands for several minutes before setting the stone back on the table. “You understand that scrying usually depicts the past, present, or future. It’s not about to churn out a set of coordinates for you. There are times when the information is useful and other times it can be damaging. It will be for me to determine if the information will be useful to you, and I will decide what you will be told.”

Sam’s indignation was clear on his face, but he quickly nodded his consent. Martha slowly rose from the couch and began to clear the table. She placed a white linen cloth in the table, followed by a stone bowl of clear water. She hesitated before adding a few drops of green dye to the water. Once the green had dispersed into the bowl she sat back down and closed her eyes. Sam sat quietly and tried to not fidget.

After several minutes, Martha let out a deep sigh and said, “Go wait outside.”

Sam hesitated but followed her instructions. He was sitting on the rickety steps when he saw another car pull up beside the Impala, an old station wagon, the kind Dean loved to hate. From it stepped a lanky, skinny young man wearing shades that desperately begged for respect. His stride was out of sorts, making him appear even more uncoordinated. He started towards the trailer but was met at the gate by Lori, the same young girl that had stopped Sam. After a brief conversation, the man returned to his car and sat on the hood. Lori walked back the trailer and sat down beside Sam. “I hate it when hunters are early. They all think their problem is the most important one,” Lori said. “Look at this guy, a total newbie.” 

Sam chuckled and rubbed a hand over his tired face. “How long does it usually take,” he asked. 

Before Lori got a chance to answer the door swung open, smacking Sam in the back. “Lori, get in here,” Martha demanded. “Where is the map? I’m going to need you to find it and get it laid out.” 

Without a word Lori handed Sam her shotgun and went to help Martha. It was half an hour before Martha kicked her back out of the trailer. An hour later Martha slowly opened the door and called Sam inside; as Sam sat back down at the table he could tell she had been busy. There was the bowl of green water, a black scrying mirror, one small clear glass ball and another larger one made of amethyst both carefully perched on metal stands. There was a map of the state forest carelessly draped on the couch next to Martha. 

“As you can see, I’ve had to pull all the stops out,” Martha said tiredly as she waved a hand at the messy table. “But I can tell you a few things.”

Sam perched himself on the edge of his chair and asked, “Where is he? Is he alright?”

Martha waved a dismissive hand towards him. “I can’t tell you exactly where he is. He is alive but there is something about him…that’s not quite right. He’s underground, a cave maybe.”

Sam sat waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t. “What else?”

“There wasn’t anything else, Sam,” Martha said apologetically. “I wish there was.”

Sam sat quietly for a minute. At least he knew Dean was alive. That was reason enough to keep looking. 

Sam was halfway across the yard to the gate when Martha burst out of the trailer. “Sam! Stay away from the crossroad demons. If they know he’s missing, they’ll find him before you do. No doubt about that. And tell Bobby Singer hello for me when you see him.”

Sam called back to her, “I’ve been trying to reach him, he’s-“

Martha interrupted him, “He’s at your cabin.”

Sam turned in surprise and nearly ran for the car. Lori stopped him at the gate. “Two hundred,” she said to him with her hand out. Sam drug into his wallet and shoved a few bills into her hands. 

Sam broke every speed limit to get to the cabin, managing to cut about an hour off his drive back to the cabin. He parked the Impala and nearly ran into the cabin. 

“Bobby!” he said as he flung the door open. “Glad you finally made it!”

Bobby Singer was nearly lifted off the floor as Sam pulled the older hunter into a bear hug. Bobby knew from the extra few seconds it took Sam to release him that Sam was worse off than he had accounted for. 

“I hit a few snags, well, a few nightmares, but I finally managed to get here,” Bobby explained. “Now let’s see how you’re doing, son.”

Sam immediately leapt into hunter mode. “Well, here are the maps; I’ve crossed the areas we’ve been over. Buck Thompson and I used hounds on most of the same areas. I’ve got the files from the original cases. You want to hear what Martha had to say?”

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “Sam, I know I came here to look for Dean but what I meant was how you are doing. How much sleep did you get last night? When did you last eat?”

Bobby immediately regretted his statement. He could see Sam’s energy deflate before he even quit talking. Sam tossed the files on the bed and sat down across from Bobby. “I’m not sure how you really want me to answer that Bobby,” Sam said. “I’ve been looking nonstop. You know that.”

Bobby nodded and took his hat off, tossing it on the table. “Well, I have plan. Not a good one,” Bobby explained. “I’ll probably get my nose broken again. We’re not hunting in the forest tomorrow. We’re not even hunting for Dean tomorrow.”

Sam looked up at Bobby, uncertainly on his face. 

Bobby smiled and said, “Tomorrow, we’re hunting Allison Hilty. I’ve got an idea of where we’re going to find her. And then she’s going to find him. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are like paychecks...we don't get paid in cash....we get paid in words, from you...Make your direct deposit today!!


	12. Reaping Your Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fav chapters for sure. Love hysterical Sam, so worried and worked up. And Garth! Ha! Love him too!

Sam woke to the sound of Bobby talking, quietly through the bathroom door. He couldn’t make out any of the conversation but knew it had to do with Dean. Everything lately had to do with Dean. It had been nearly five weeks and he hadn’t been able to so much as find a footprint. His last hope was in Bobby and his contact. 

Bobby tiptoed out the bathroom and was one foot out the front door when Sam said, “So, I have to call if I so much as buy ammunition, but you can wander off at 5am?”

Bobby walked back into the room and closed the door. “I’ve got a guy who might know where she is. I’m going to meet him.” 

Sam sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He crossed his arms and waited. 

“Would you like to tag along,” Bobby asked sarcastically, sweeping his arm out in a bow. He watched as Sam pulled his shoes and jacket on. “You were never this much of a princess when Dean was around.” 

Sam smiled and climbed into the rusted Nova that Bobby was driving; Sam directed Bobby to a small restaurant in Ducktown. It was the only place nearby that served breakfast and Bobby’s contact had been specific. As Bobby parked his Nova, Sam spotted the same old station wagon from his trip to Martha’s. Sam hesitated, Lori had stated he was a newbie to hunting so how could he have the info they needed?

Bobby was halfway across the diner to the table when Sam caught up to him. He had been right about the car, the same goofy looking guy was sitting in a booth with a half dozen loaded plates in front of him. He was shoveling in pancakes when Sam sat down. 

The young man smiled confidently, and said, “I’m Garth. And I have what you need.”

Bobby chuckled and said, “How about we order our own breakfast while you decide if you really want to use that line.” 

Garth blushed and hid behind his orange juice. After ordering, Sam and Bobby turned their attention back the Garth, who still seemed a few shades off. “So, Garth, how long have you been in the trade,” Bobby asked. 

Garth seemed overly eager to answer. “About a year. Mostly small stuff but I’m working my way up to the bigger stuff, like salt and burns,” Garth answered. 

Bobby and Sam looked at each other. “You mean you’ve been doing small stuff like salt and burns and want some bigger jobs,” Sam asked. 

Garth snorted into his orange juice. “Look, guys, I get research isn’t all glorified, but give me a break. I’m working up to the salt and burns. I’m not looking to die on my first run.”

Sam leaned forward, across the table and said, “So your saying you’ve been doing a year of research and now you’re looking to hunt.”

“You got it,” Garth said with an aloof grin. 

Bobby tossed his hat down on the table angrily and for a second Sam thought he was going to lean over the table and break Garth in half. “How the hell can you help us? Over the phone you said you knew where I can find Allison Hilty.”

“Well, pretty much, I do,” Garth said innocently as he tore into another plate of pancakes. “It should be fairly simple. You have to lure her out.”

“Excuse me,” Bobby said, his voice getting more intense by the second. “So your genius plan is for us to LURE her out? We don’t have time for that, we need her now. Before now even!”

“Well, I’ve already started for you, because, well, I need to ask her start sending jobs my way,” Garth said as he handed a few pieces of paperwork over to Sam, who tried to avoid the syrupy spots. They were flyers of Dean, the information regarding his disappearance, along with the promise of a fifteen thousand dollar reward. On the bottom were three phone numbers. Sam recognized his own, as well as Bobby’s and asked, “Wait-how did you even get our numbers?”

“Research, man,” Garth said. “The third number is mine.”

“So how is this supposed to work,” Sam asked. “Allison Hilty sees this, hunts Dean down, and claims the fake reward? Not really seeing this work, Garth.”

“No, she won’t let it get that far,” Garth replied. “I’ve already got them faxed to the forestry stations, the police department, and a few other local hot spots. She’ll hear about it, if she hasn’t already, and find one of us. Probably Bobby, cause she might recognize his number at least. She won’t let more people, especially unequipped non-hunters get involved, and she’ll hunt us down.”

“Yeah, to kick our asses in maybe,” Bobby said. “If I remember right, she orchestrates the hunting in this area. She’ll put a stop to it all right, but we need her, not just her putting an end to the hunt.”

“That’s why I’ve also got a few other things in the works,” Garth said. “Wait and see.”

The Next Morning

Sam woke up to the cabin door closing and Bobby’s cell phone ringing. He listened to Bobby’s mutterings from the warmth of his quilt. It was getting cold outside; he couldn’t imagine how Dean must be handling the cold. Bobby stormed back into the cabin, and paced a few strides before dropping down on the other bed. “She contacted Garth this morning, told him to pull the fliers. He told her only if we get a face to face with her.”

“Well, what did she say,” Sam asked expectantly. “Do we have her in our corner or not?”

“She’ll be at the Boyd Gap overlook in an hour. Said for you to stay put here,” Bobby answered.

“Bullshit Bobby! She can help find Dean, I’m going,” Sam said rebelliously. 

“That’s what I expected,” Bobby said with a grin.

It was less than thirty minutes to the overlook, which was situated a ways off the main road, on the backside of the mountain. It overlooked a large valley and riverbed; from the parking lot several hiking trails split into a half dozen directions. Sam parked the Impala and watched as Garth pulled his station wagon into the adjacent parking spot; he stepped out of his enormous ride and pulled on his shades, nodding to Sam as though this was a normal meeting for them. Sam couldn’t help himself, “Dude, where did you get that car?”

“It was my mom’s. She wanted a Taurus so I bought this beauty off her cheap; low miles, lots of room for hunting gear, and it’s a total chick magnet,” Garth said as he folded his arms and stepped back to admire his car. “Yeah, one day, this car is going to totally get me laid.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. God he hoped Dean got a chance to meet Garth; he was unlike any other hunter they had met yet. Sam turned when he heard Bobby’s Nova pulling into the parking lot.

“Anyone see her yet,” Bobby asked as he climbed out of his car. 

“Nope,” Garth answered. He adjusted his shades once more, changing his stance to match Sam’s.

The three men stood patiently and waited for an hour. Just when Sam was about to call it a loss, he heard the rumble of an old truck. They watched as an old Dodge pickup rolled into the parking lot and parked right in front of the cars; making it difficult, if even possible to move them. Sam watched as a familiar face stepped into view. It was Alice, the woman who had loaned he and Dean her ATV weeks ago in the forest. She looked remarkably the same; down the same boots and old hat pulled low over her face. The only thing missing was her rifle, but Sam guessed she was probably a little more stealthily armed this time. One thing for sure that Sam didn’t recognize from before was the sheer anger etched into her face. 

She walked around to the front of her faded pickup and immediately laid an icy glare on Bobby. “My phones haven’t stopped ringing since you put my number on your answering machine. I don’t handle the Midwest,” Alice said. “Nor do I tolerate strangers calling me at all hours asking where you are.”

Sam felt a slight grin working its way to his face when she turned to him and asked icily, “And I thought we agreed the giant would stay put in the cabin. You have a lot of nerve endangering people by enticing them to hunt for that kind of reward. There are a lot of desperate people that might go looking for Dean; they don’t know what’s in the woods. You do. You want their blood on your hands?” 

Sam felt his face getting hot, from shame or anger he didn’t know. He didn’t get a chance to respond as she turned on Garth, who was standing at attention, chin held high, waiting for his ass chewing. She paused as she looked him over, scoffing before turning back to Bobby. 

“What will it take to get you out of here, Singer,” she asked. “I don’t want more people looking for me or knowing where I’m at these days. It’s taken a long time to get my aliases integrated into this community, don’t screw this up for me, or I will be moving into your guest room-permanently.”

Bobby cleared his throat and adjusted his cap. “We need to find Dean,” he said. 

Sam interrupted, “I’ve combed the forest, used hounds-“

“I know what you’ve been doing, Sam,” Alice answered. “I spoke with Buck Thompson. I’m the one that asked him to stop taking you into the woods. Those dogs of his can’t smell wendigos, or protect him from them. He’s a good man, doesn’t deserve to be eaten.” 

Sam felt like he had been struck. His efforts had been stunted by this woman. He felt him anger blossoming and was about to punch her, woman or not, when Bobby caught his eye and shook his head in a warning. They still needed her. 

“I’ve been looking as well,” Alice admitted, looking at Sam. She could read his anger just as easily as she had read his dad’s. “In my own way.”

“What way is that,” Sam asked, his anger making it hard to speak. “Doesn’t look like you’ve had any more luck than I have.”

“Not true,” Alice said. “I’ve seen him.”

“Then how do you not have him,” Sam shouted. He felt himself getting dizzy, and leaned back onto the Impala’s hood. He felt a strong hand on his back, Bobby. 

“You need to breath, Sam,” Bobby said. “If you start hyperventilating, Garth’s going to have to drive you back to cabin; I don’t think you want that.”

Sam shook his head, trying to breathe. He looked back at Alice, hatred in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t catch him, Sam. He was too fast. And hunting. I tagged the area and got out of there,” Alice explained. “If I died out there you wouldn’t even know what had happened to him.”

“What do you mean, he was hunting,” Sam asked, his breath still a little too tight in his chest. “For what?”

“Hikers,” Alice replied sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment or Dean will end up with hiker boot breath!! Hiker Pot Pie, anyone?


	13. Coin Toss for the Cure

Sam stood by the cabin door, hoping to deter Alice from leaving. She sat at the small table in the cabin, as did Bobby and Garth. An open bottle of whiskey sat on the table, no one speaking. Sam watched Alice’s face, she had seemed genuinely upset to deliver the news but Sam was waiting for the other side of the coin. It didn’t take very long for it to flip. 

“So what do we do now,” asked Garth. He had been toying with his glass, trying to avoid having to drink it. He had no taste for the hard stuff. “Is there some kind of cure?”

Sam watched Alice’s eyes narrow as she stared at the empty glass in her hand. “The only cure for a Wendigo is fire,” she replied without looking up. “I’ll get some men and take out the nest.”

Bobby snorted and slid the bottle across the table to Alice. “Do we look like a bunch of lilies to you? You got all the help you need right here.”

“I don’t expect you to hunt down your own,” Alice said. “You’ll hesitate. More people will die. Better to get some help that won’t get in the way.” Sam didn’t miss how her eyes seemed to light on him for a split second before coming to look at Bobby. 

They returned to silence for some time before Sam spoke up. “How did you know where to look,” he demanded. “I looked everywhere and never saw any sign of a nest.”

Alice didn’t even turn towards him as she answered. “I don’t answer to you, Sam Winchester. You wanted him found. He’s been found, just too late. Don’t get in my way, I have a responsibility to my community to make sure this doesn’t continue,” Alice said sternly. 

Bobby sighed and turned to Alice, his annoyance plainly visible. “You know, this is Sam Winchester, right? Not John,” Bobby said. “Don’t confuse the two.”

Alice rolled her eyes and looked from Garth to Sam to Bobby and finally back to the bottle. “Sam? Do you have any idea how a Wendigo is made?”

“Cannibalism,” Sam said. “Over time they crave nothing but human flesh and become reclusive; takes a long time. Dean has only been out there a few weeks.”

Alice nodded along and added, “The Algonquin’s believed that it happened in different ways. A person who is unable to be satisfied; greedy, can become one. That the evil spirit of the Wendigo can overtake such a person and mold them into a beast. They can never be satisfied, no matter how much they eat or kill. They lose everything because nothing is enough.”

Sam dropped into a chair at the table and filled his glass. “You think Dean was a prime candidate, don’t you,” Sam asked, for the first time wondering if they had ever encountered Alice before now. 

“You would know better than anyone,” Alice replied. “It’s been years since I saw you boys last, but yes.” 

Sam’s head shot up, scrutinizing her face. There wasn’t anything he recognized about her. Bobby, sensing the change in conversation excused himself and walked outside, followed by Garth. Alice waited until the door was closed before she turned back to Sam and said, “Bobby told me that either I spill it or he will.” 

Sam slouched in the chair, waiting for her to continue. “You’ve met us before?”

“I met your dad a few years back. You were just a tiny thing then, Dean just as protective as could be,” Alice said, a fleeting smile on her face before the hardness returned. “You’re dad was just getting started and he needed information in this area, demon tracking. He was full of fire, but had no idea how to use it.” 

Sam slid his glass across the table, letting it stop next to her own empty one. She filled both as he thought over what she said. Something didn’t fit. 

“Alice, you’re like what, mid-twenties? Early thirties, maybe,” Sam said, laying a pistol on the table in front of him. “You’re lying to me and you threatened to kill my brother.”

Alice smiled and laughed. “Give it your best shot, Sam, your dad did.” 

Sam could feel his face start to burn; she certainly had a way of pissing him off. A lot like Dean actually. 

“You won’t remember this, I can’t imagine that Dean would either,” Alice said, suddenly serious. “You’re dad met me during a hunt. Actually, he was hunting me. I’m human, don’t get me wrong. But I have a unique….curse, we’ll call it. Either way, every so many years I reinvent myself and work to reestablish myself into the hunter’s community. It’s what I do. I’m like Bobby, I research, I bail people out of jail, and my phone is never off.”

“So how did you not end up dead,” Sam asked. 

“He called Bobby, who vouched for me,” Alice explained. “I owe Bobby for that, and always will. But it also put John Winchester in my path and that’s not an easy thing to deal with. He dropped you boys off at odd hours, for sometimes weeks, Dean went a whole semester in a local school here. You had your first overnight trip in the emergency pediatrics unit while you stayed here, scarlet fever. Not very common, but you came in contact with an exposed neighbor who had dropped off a bushel of bloodroot.”

Sam sat quietly, shocked to hear what she had to say. He didn’t remember any of it; he also knew Dean had never mentioned any of it either. 

“So…what’s the plan, Sam,” Alice asked, setting her now empty glass upside down on the table. “You can kill me. I can leave. We can flip a coin for Dean if you want. Not for life or death, but for who pulls the trigger. It’s the only way.”

Sam looked at the pistol and then back to the whiskey. “We can look for a way to turn him back,” Sam said slurring slightly; he knew he was past his limit. “There has to be a way.”

Sam jumped a little as Alice slammed a quarter on the table. “Heads or tail,” she said. “Your call.”


	14. Change of Heart and Caliber

Sam’s head shot up off the table when Bobby slammed the door to the cabin, causing Sam to clutch his head and grimace slightly. His head felt like it was attached by a thread. 

Bobby chuckled and said, “Guess I should have warned you about drinking with Alice. Never pays off and it makes it too easy for her to slip away.”

Sam glanced around the room, realizing his drinking partner was indeed gone. “Shit Bobby, I thought we were going to follow her back to wherever she’s working out of.”

“We were,” Bobby said in agreement. “But then you passed out. She snuck out while I was on the phone with Garth.”

“What do we do now,” Sam asked as he lumbered to the bathroom. He wanted to smell anything but the whiskey that clung to him. 

“Sam, what is this,” Bobby asked causing Sam to walk out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. On the table was the quarter, heads up. Written around it in a very neat handwriting were the words “I’ve got this one.” Sam dropped his toothbrush and rushed to the bathroom, his stomach rolling as the coin toss surfaced from his whiskey laden memory. When the dry heaving stopped Bobby handed him a washcloth. As Sam ran cold water in the sink, he noticed his reflection in the mirror and the slight bruise on his cheekbone. 

“She cheated,” he said to himself. 

“What? Who,” Bobby asked from the doorway. He had begun to notice the paleness and dark sunken eyes as well as the weight loss. Sam looked like crap and Bobby knew there wasn’t a thing he could do about it until they found Dean. 

“Alice,” Sam said as he ran a hand over his face. “She tossed the coin for Dean; I looked up when she did. She must have decked me; I don’t remember the coin coming down.”

“In your defense, you looked pretty well near drunk when I left you two to talk last night,” Bobby said. “Probably didn’t take much.”

Sam sighed and pointed towards to coin on the table. “She’s going after him,” Sam said. “She’ll kill Dean if she finds him Bobby.”

“Well, she’ll have to get past us first,” Bobby explained as he pulled his cellphone out. “When I figured you were getting drunk under the table and that there was no way I could follow her without getting caught I put Garth up to following her home. Let’s call him and find out where they are.”

As the phone rang Bobby could see the buildup of tension on Sam’s face. He heard the ringing stop and simultaneously heard what sounded like the phone being dropped. “Garth,” Bobby asked. “You there?”

Bobby was surprised to hear the feminine voice on the other end of the phone, it was Alice; he could hear the sheer anger in her voice and was almost more worried for he and Sam than poor Garth who had obviously been caught. “Bobby Singer, do you have any idea what I will do to you for this?”

“Alice, we can’t let you kill Dean. We will find a way to fix this, but if you so much as touch him, we will be coming after you,” Bobby said just as determinedly. 

“Bobby, you tell Sam to stay out of my way,” Alice said. “We tossed for it, I won.”

Sam watched as Bobby tossed the phone on the table. “We have to find him first. Or find and kill Alice.” 

“Bobby! In case you weren’t paying attention but I’ve been looking for the last six weeks,” Sam yelled. He ran a hand over his face, he needed a shower so badly but with Alice already on the move it was going to have to wait. His hands were shaking from fear, frustration, and exhaustion. The hangover wasn’t helping. “She knows where he is. How do we stand a chance of finding him first?”

Bobby wasn’t listening. He began to pace the room while occasionally adjusting his hat. He had to think of something, it’s not like John was suddenly going to jump into the rescue and help out, he hadn’t been reachable for months. It was up to Bobby; Sam was too wrapped up in his panic to think clearly. Alice had to have a way to be found, after all, anyone who buys hunting supplies gets them from somewhere. 

“What did she say to you last night,” Bobby asked suddenly. “Anything stand out to you?”

Sam dropped onto his bed, trying to remember through the hazy feeling in his head. “She said we lived with her for a while. Dean went to school. I went to the hospital for scarlet fever. Her neighbor brought her bloodroot.”

Bobby started to dig through his clothes, finally digging out his suit. “I’ve got an idea,” Bobby said as he headed towards the bathroom. “You’re staying here and getting some decent sleep.”

“Bobby-“ Sam started to say.

“Sam, I mean it son. You look like crap and if you’re going to have my back in the woods later, you better get some sleep,” Bobby said as he shut the bathroom door. Sam heard the shower come on and tried to lie back on the bed. Truth be known, he hadn’t been able to sleep for a while. Having to be on his own was one thing, to know that Dean was out in the woods, alone except for a handful of monsters, kind of made it hard to get more than fifteen minutes of sleep at a time. The nightmares were the worst.

He was still awake when Bobby came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to illegally represent some office of the government. Bobby noticed Sam’s tired brown eyes following him around the room and was halfway across the room before he circled back for his bag. He glanced at Sam as he laid the small first aid kit on the table. Sam watched as Bobby nudged bottles, ointments, and bandages around before digging two small pills out of a bottle. He tossed the box back into his bag and handed the pills to Sam with a bottle of water. 

Sam looked at the pills in his hand. He recognized them but was surprised Bobby even doled them out. Hunters want to be alert, not sound asleep. “The salt is down, you’re armed. Take a few hours to sleep. We’ll need to be on our toes later,” Bobby said as he walked out of the cabin not even staying to see if Sam took the sleeping pills. 

It took Bobby six hours to get what he needed, he figured it was probably the only time the small hospital had been privileged to receive a HIPAA inspection of old juvenile files. As he waited for his to go order for he and Sam, he called a few local contacts he knew from years ago; one of which proved to be helpful. Bobby was nearly giddy as he walked into the cabin, surprised to see Sam sitting at the computer, slightly slumped, and obviously having a hard time focusing. 

“Sam? I thought I told you to get some sleep,” Bobby said as he tossed the bag of food on the table. “You look worse than before.”

“Mm, thanks Bobby,” Sam managed to mumble as he glanced up at Bobby. “Find anything?”

“Only the break we needed,” Bobby said as he tossed his jacket on his bed. “Medical files. Juvenile files get kept long past the regular files, per federal laws. Took a few hours, your file was in an offsite storage facility. They faxed a copy of it to the hospital; we found your file by using your social security number. She was Sarah Hilty then, she admitted you as her son. There’s an address on file. It’s right on the edge of an Amish community. Makes sense too, Hilty is an Amish name, they are more likely to have the older diseases and illnesses like scarlet fever running around, and the bloodroot would have fit too, it’s used as a dye in basket making. She might have moved by now, probably should have if she hasn’t. Want to go take a look?”

“Sure,” Sam said as he fumbled with his shoes. “What do you think she did with Garth?”

Bobby grimaced and shook his head. “I have no idea, but I imagine that after she’s done hunting, she’ll let him go.”

“How are we going to convince her to not kill Dean,” Sam asked as they walked towards Bobby’s rusted Nova. 

Bobby didn’t look up as he said, “Have you considered that if we find him first, we may be the ones who have to kill him? He’s not just Dean anymore. If he’s begun to hunt for people, or worse, eating people we have to decide what to do. Tough as that may be, we need to decide.”

Sam scanned the tree line as they drove past the other cabins, most empty now that the cold weather had come. “Alice said that the Algonquin Indians believed the Wendigos were evil spirits. So, what if it’s like a possession? We may be able to work with that.”

“They also believed that the person would never stop craving human flesh,” Bobby said. 

“Whose side are you on Bobby,” Sam asked angrily. 

“Well excuse me for thinking we needed to see the other side of the argument, because that’s the side Alice is taking. And that’s who we need to convince,” Bobby replied. 

Sam sat quietly as Bobby drove them along the river road towards the small Amish community on the other side of the mountain range. He knew they had to decide what to do, and he was glad it was Bobby he was deciding with. Anyone else, like Alice, would only see the monster, not the man. 

As they approached the small farming area, Bobby began to wonder if they needed a better plan. The Amish were not people he wanted to get involved with; they were secretive and might not mind keeping the bodies in Alice’s garden a secret if they thought Sam and Bobby were a threat to them. He wondered if they also knew of Alice’s predicament, but it was the perfect place for her. She could disappear and reemerge easily enough if they looked the other way, letting her keep the reclusive lifestyle she required for hunting. 

They drove slowly down the dirt road that wound through the farms, looking for Alice’s. None of the houses had addresses, or even mailboxes, but Bobby managed to spot it. In his exhaustion, Sam had missed the small carving on the gatepost but Bobby had instantly slammed on the brakes. 

“Notice something,” Sam asked he looked towards the large, old farmhouse. “Looks like the last five we passed.”

“Look at the gate, it’s got a Dagaz rune carved into it,” Bobby said. “It’s her place. Besides, it’s the only driveway that seems to be traveled by something other than a horse and wagon.”

Sam was the first out of the car although Bobby was just a step behind him. As they approached the house, Bobby noticed the garden growing alongside the house. It had several unusual varieties of plants, mostly used in rituals and often needed by hunters. Bobby made a mental note to remember to call Alice if his usual supplier ever ran out again; if Alice didn’t just kill him now. 

As Sam and Bobby climbed the few steps to her door, Sam heard the unmistakable sound of a pump action shotgun. Alice’s privacy was a definite priority for her. 

“We only want to talk Alice,” Bobby called out. “I know what you’re planning to do and we need to talk about it.”

Alice flung the door open and said, “Get inside! I will not give the rest of the community a reason to kick me out, just because you want to make this difficult.” 

As Sam and Bobby stepped through the doorway, Alice’s cellphone rang. She glanced from Sam to Bobby before answering her phone. 

“Hello John, do we have a deal,” Alice asked while staring at Sam, shotgun held loosely in her hand. Sam glanced at Bobby, who shrugged. Neither one of them had been able to reach John in the many weeks Dean had been missing, every number Sam had was disconnected.   
Alice’s demeanor changed to a more relaxed position and she set the shotgun in the metal umbrella stand by the doorway. Sam shuffled his feet and leaned against the doorway tiredly; not realizing that Bobby had once again noticed his exhaustion.   
Sam watched as Alice’s face broke into a smile, the first real one he had seen on her face since he had met her. “I’ll be waiting for it to arrive, John,” Alice said. “You’ve got a few days to get it here. Hunting him down won’t be easy but I’ve been studying Wendigos for a long time. Have an idea I want to try out.”  
Alice slid her phone back into her pocket and turned to Bobby and Sam, “It’ll take bait to catch him. I say we use Garth.”


	15. Haphazard Planning

Sam and Bobby were surprised to find Garth sitting at Alice’s kitchen table, spoon deep in apple pie. He grinned sheepishly, turning bright red when Bobby asked him what happened. 

“She caught me. I was careful! I did everything you said, but she still caught me,” Garth explained. 

“Well, no offense Garth, but any car stands out in an Amish community. It’s one of the reasons I love it here,” Alice stated. “Anything new stands out like a sore thumb. Makes it easy to spot trouble.”

Sam sat at the table, looking around the large kitchen. It seemed very plain with its bare wood cabinets and pine floors. Alice motioned for Bobby to sit down at the table, settling into the chair across from Sam. “Figuring everything out, Sam,” Alice asked curiously. “Recognize anything?”

Sam shook his head and asked, “How did you get my dad’s phone number? He’s been unreachable for months.” 

Alice shook her head, “If he wanted you to find him, he would have made it easy. I had to trade some information to get his number. He’ll change it again. He’s not ready to give up his hunt yet and he doesn’t want you boys to get involved with what he’s doing right now. I’m sorry.”

“What is he sending you,” Sam asked curiously, thinking back to the conversation that took place less than an hour ago. 

“Not going to discuss it,” Alice said. “It’s something between me and your dad. Either way, I’ve agreed to assist in attempting to catch Dean, with certain conditions. Your dad was agreeable to the terms.”

“Which are,” Bobby asked, still watching Garth eat with gusto. 

“I’ve spent some time studying wendigos; John knows that. I’ve got a panic room that should hold a wendigo; not an old, well developed one but like you said-Dean’s only been out there a few weeks. Trapping him will be the hard part,” Alice explained as she walked out of the room. She walked back in with a large leather book in her hands; she placed it on the table and thumbed through it. Sam watched her flip past pages with drawings of Wendigos, sigils, plant drawings and what looked like recipes. She finally found what she was looking for and turned the book for Sam and Bobby to see the page. Garth walked around the table so he could read as well. 

Sam realized it was a journal, with daily entries; dating over the last fifty years. He flipped a few pages; each entry stated the date and location. He knew he was missing something, he knew his sleep deprivation was starting to affect him. He looked over at Bobby who shrugged his shoulders. 

“What are we looking at Alice,” Bobby asked as he thumbed through a few pages. 

“It’s my wendigo journal. I’ve been following their activity over the past fifty years, keeping notes. When I’m done learning what I can from them, I go in and take them out. That’s why I’m pretty certain there’s no way to turn one back,” Alice explained. “I’ve asked a few Indian shamans, but you would be amazed how many no longer believe in their own old ways.” 

“Wow,” Garth blurted out. “You’re old! You look pretty good.”

Bobby gave Garth a look that sent him scurrying back around the table to his own chair. “So, Alice, you’ve been studying them for fifty years,” Sam asked. “Why?”

“When you get to be as old as me, and no-I’m not going to say how old I am,” Alice stated, her youthful face looking quite stern. “You get bored. I got bored of just killing them. I wanted to know how they came to be. How to better kill them. How to better hunt them. Think about it, every ritual, every spell, every everything you use and know about hunting came from somewhere and someone. I wanted to make the hunt better.”

“So you perfected how to hunt and kill them,” Sam said angrily. “How does that make it easier to catch one alive?”

“We can identify which one he is, when I saw him he was limping. I’m guessing from the way he was limping and the angle of his leg that he broke it. Wendigos heal fast; they depend on it to survive. The bone probably healed crooked. It will be a bitch to correct later, but for now it may slow him down long enough to make it possible to catch him. There are a few things we can try. A snare may work, but we’d have to get close to him to get him down. We could use bear traps, you know, the old metal ones with teeth. Illegal now. But still makes it necessary to get close to him. We could try to cage him, but moving the cage would be impossible on that terrain.”

“A bear trap could just as easily take his leg off,” Bobby interjected. “What else you got?”

“Why not sedate him,” Garth asked. “We could use tranquilizer guns.” 

Alice shook her head slightly. “Their metabolism is incredible, it’s part of what makes them insatiable. You’d have to have to continuously push it, probably with an IV. And trying to put in an IV would be risky. He could rip you to shreds.”

“What’s the closest you’ve ever gotten Alice,” Sam asked curiously as he looked through the journal. Some of the drawings were very detailed, down to the last jagged tooth. 

Alice leaned on her elbows across the table. “I touched one once. Before I killed it.”

Garth’s eyes widened as he stared at her, “That’s unreal. How did you do it?”

“I wanted to know how what happened inside their caves. An Indian, the one who performed the last known Wendigo dance, gave me a recipe many years ago. I had to improve upon it of course. His was quite rudimentary, made my skin peel every time I used it.”

“What kind of recipe,” Sam asked. 

“Cover’s up your scent. Wendigo’s have an incredible sense of smell, so it’s a great way to help camouflage yourself. They can still see you, but it helps to hide you while you’re tracking them,” Alice explained. “If you’re lucky it will make you gag, if you’re not lucky it will make you as sick as a dog, it’s potent stuff.”

“So, you have a way to go in undetected,” Bobby said. “How do we transport him?”

“You’re guess is as good as mine, never tried it,” Alice replied. “I think Garth might have the right idea with the sedatives. If we could get some elephant or horse tranquilizers, the bigger the better, we could drug him for transportation. The initial trap is the problem.” 

“Why not combine everything we’re got,” Garth said. “Snare him, while he’s strung up we sedate him. We lower him down, get the IV flowing. Load him and move him.”

“What if he comes to,” Sam asked. “He’ll be uncontrollable.”

“We could shoot him,” Alice suggested. “Not critically, just enough to wound him.”

“Or we could use a cage, maybe consecrated iron. It’s not a demonic possession or a ghost, but it’s still strong. Stronger than most anything else we have available,” Sam stated with annoyance. “We could maybe try to avoid shooting him if possible.”

“There is really nothing in the lore about catching one, I’m assuming because you can’t turn one back,” Alice said. “But that’s just me talking.”

“Alice, how’s your panic room set up? Do we access it from the house or outside? What’s the best route to get him into to it,” Bobby asked. 

“We can go either way, they’re accessible to both,” Alice replied. “There are two; I’d say use the bare one. Less for him to tear up and if he improves we can move him to the luxury suite. It’s got a toilet at least.”

“It’s pretty nice,” Garth said as he nodded in agreement. He noticed the strange looks from Bobby and Sam and said, “What? I had to sleep in it last night! I’ve stayed in worse hotels.”

They sat silently for a little while, each pondering how to best proceed. It was Bobby who broke the silence, asking, “So Alice, what conditions did you give John?” 

Alice rubbed a pale hand over her tired face, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “If Dean can’t be saved, he has to be put down. I won’t let him hurt anyone. He lashes out at one of us with intent to kill, he gets put down. We will look for a way to save him, but not at the cost of another life,” Alice explained. “And John has to return something to me, but that’s between him and me. I also get to journal the event for the possibility that some good does come of it. I do demand from each of you, that the location of my home remains private.”

Each of the men nodded in agreement. Alice rose from her chair and went to the small dry pantry that was next to the kitchen. She brought a large pottery crock to the table and set it carefully in the middle of the table. 

“Sam, you get the cage ready to go, there’s a blacksmith down the road about a mile. Tell him I sent you,” Alice said. “Bobby, I need you to get your hands on some IV equipment, lots of it. And also see if you can get some tranquilizer guns lined up. Garth, I need you to stop by the morgue. Wendigos only eat one thing, the fresher the better. We’ll have to wean him off the live stuff by using the dead stuff. I’ll make some phone calls and arrange for some heavy duty tranquilizers. We need to have everything ready in two days, no later than that. The forestry department lifts the hiking restrictions in five days. We need to get him out of there and any others dead before that happens.” 

Sam let out a sigh of relief, not realizing he had been holding his breath. A plan was good, he could work with that. At least Alice was going to help find him. And maybe he could find John too. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he failed to notice Garth reaching for the lid on the crock sitting before them. The smell was overwhelming; it smelled like a liquefied corpse mixed with a little compost. Poor Garth was running for the bathroom, his apple pie working its way out. 

Alice quickly reached over and replaced the lid on the crock, “Newbie.”


	16. Invasion of the Body Snatcher

Bobby knew it was about the approach. Any hesitation would lead to him getting caught; and that would ruin all the careful planning that was underway. He adjusted his lab coat and made sure the stolen ID keycard was in his pocket. He passed the nurse’s station, which was undergoing shift change; the more distractions the better. He followed the posted signs to the door he was looking for, central supply. He pulled the card from his pocket and swiped the keycard. The light flashed red and remained locked. The second attempt didn’t make any difference. He was about to swipe it a third time when he heard someone behind him clear their throat. “Um-excuse me,” a woman said. “Can I help you?”

Bobby turned slowly, hoping his body language didn’t make him appear guilty of the crime he was about to commit. “Yeah, I just got my keycard from Human Resources. It’s not working, which is going to make my first day a lot harder than I thought,” Bobby stated confidently with a grin. 

The woman returned the smile and replied, “I had the same problem when I started. These computerized systems take forever to upload the new employees. I’m headed in for a few things, I’ll let you in.”

Bobby stepped aside and let the young woman swipe her own keycard, which unlocked the door. She walked in, holding the door for him. 

“Do you know where to find your supplies,” the woman asked. “They just rearranged the supply rooms on this floor.”

“I’m looking for IV supplies,” Bobby replied. He would have rather done his shopping without help, but he couldn’t risk raising any alarm. 

The woman pointed towards an aisle in the large, brightly lit room. “Check down there,” she said as she pulled her own list from her scrubs pocket. 

Bobby nodded his thanks and quickly headed down the aisle. He was glad he had thought to wear a full scrub set; they offered a lot more pockets than his usual clothes. He spotted the IV lines, grabbing as many sets as he felt he could carry without looking suspicious. He looked around the shelves for anything else he thought they might be able to use, spotting a set of bed restraints. He briefly considered how difficult it would be to walk off with them, and finally decided to just go for it. They had no idea what they were getting into and the fewer trips to rip off the local hospital the better. He was headed for the door when the nurse bumped into his, her arms full. 

“I have to make a trip into the pharmacy supply room, I’m guessing you do as well,” the woman stated as she dumped her armload onto a cart. “Come on, I’ll buzz you in with me.”

Bobby couldn’t believe his good fortune, usually drugs were in scarce supply and an attempt to break into the pharmacy was something Alice had been worrying about. Bobby followed the nurse down the hallway, her cart leading the way. They stopped at a small door and she swiped her keycard again and waited for the pharmacist inside to buzz them in. Bobby wasn’t surprised to see that a counter separated them from the rows of bottles. A pharmacist walked over and asked the nurse what she needed. Bobby suddenly realized that without a list, he was going to run out of luck pretty soon. He was still trying to figure out what to do when the pharmacist turned to him. “What you do need for your shift,” the pharmacist asked without looking up from his clipboard. 

“I need-“Bobby was cut off when his cellphone went off, alerting him to a text message. “Sorry,” Bobby mumbled as he drug his phone out of his pocket. 

“You’re new, right,” the nurse asked. “Better keep it off.”

“Sure thing,” Bobby said as he checked the text message. It was from an unknown number and stated, “Before you leave the hospital, go to the pharmacy. Pick up for Doctor Holiday.”

“Well,” the pharmacist asked again, his annoyance obvious in his tone. 

“’I’m picking up for Doctor Holiday,” Bobby stated, hoping his own uncertainty wasn’t showing. The pharmacist looked up when he heard the name. 

“Been awhile since Dr. Holiday has been around,” the pharmacist said as he set a large box on the counter. “But we got his fax order about an hour ago, said it was a stat order so we filled it already.” Bobby quickly signed the paperwork to confirm that he was picking up the medications and left the office, heading for the nearest exit. He tossed the medical supplies into his trunk and tore out the parking lot, wondering how Garth was doing at the morgue. 

Meanwhile, Garth was wishing he had been given another job; any of the other jobs would have been better than the one Alice had given him. He watched was Bobby’s rusted Nova drove off and adjusted his suit jacket. He quickly headed for the elevators, wishing the town was big enough to have its own Medical Examiner’s office. Trying to make two individual thefts from the same hospital on the same day was risky, even if one was from central supply and the other from the morgue. To be honest, dead people kind of scared Garth, he certainly didn’t want one in his trunk. He considered where else he could go to finish his assignment. 

He pushed the elevator button that would deliver him to the lowest floor of the hospital. He pushed the stolen gurney as he followed the signs for the office he wanted. When he found the right door, he knocked and waited. He was surprised by the young woman he found himself face to face with. 

“What can I do for you,” she asked. “I’m about to head to lunch.”

Garth froze. He knew what he was supposed to say, he had practiced in the car for over an hour. He tried to swallow the large lump in his throat, he had to come through; the others were counting on him to pull his weight. Dean would be counting on him. If he failed, he didn’t doubt that Alice, or even Bobby, would hesitate to use him as Wendigo food. Like Alice had said, the fresher the better. 

“I’m here to pick up John Doe,” Garth said. “I’m from Henderson Funeral Home.”

The woman looked him over and asked, “Can I see some identification?”

Garth fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a badge, which bore his photograph and stated his affiliation with the funeral home. 

She handed him his badge back and motioned for him to follow her. “So how is it that a John Doe gets picked up by a funeral home anyways,” she asked as she opened one of the small doors and pulled out the metal slab that held said John Doe. 

Garth tried not to look as she unzipped the bag that encased the man. “He’s been here for about two weeks, no one’s come to claim him,” she added. 

“A local family has decided to provide burial services for the man,” Garth lied. “They want to remain anonymous, but felt driven to help when they heard no one had come forward to claim him.”

“Well, he’s pretty lucky then,” she said. “For a dead man, I guess.”

Garth waited as she pulled up the Release of Body documentation and signed all the documents she laid in front of him. “You want help loading him,” she asked. 

“Just onto to the gurney if you don’t mind,” Garth said, hoping she wouldn’t offer to help him further. His station wagon was big enough for a corpse, but certainly wasn’t about to pass for a hearse. 

As Garth laid the traditional burgundy cover over the body bag, he thanked the woman and quickly headed for the elevator. 

He was returning the gurney, after spending fifteen minutes shoving, pushing, and dragging John Doe into the back of his car; when he heard two EMT’s talking about a theft in central supply. 

He casually walked back to his car, loosening his tie and wondering once again why Alice had given the easiest job to Sam. 

Meanwhile, Sam was in the middle of a nightmare. Not the kind that would drive a man insane from fear, but repetition. “I need to know what you’re going to trap,” the man said. Sam shook his head in frustration. He knew the Amish man was already uncomfortable with Sam being in his forge. Sam was an outsider and he knew that the Amish man was probably worried that his encounter with Sam would cause him problems within his tightknit community. 

“Sir, as I said before, I’m not able to say,” Sam explained for the fifth time. “Please just look over the specifications I drew up. It’s got to be as strong as you can make it. A life depends on it. Several lives actually.”

The man reluctantly took the paper Sam held out to him. He glanced over it and asked quietly, “You here because of Allison?” 

“Sort of,” Sam admitted. “She said to ask you since you’re the blacksmith in the area.”

The man shook his head and said, “Not what I was asking. Are you here because of what Allison does? The hunting? The secrecy?”

Sam reluctantly nodded, wondering how much of Alice’s life was known in the Amish community. 

“Then I suppose I should get busy on this,” the man said. “I’m known as Abraham.”

Sam smiled and relaxed, “I’m Sam.”

“Do you also hunt,” Abraham asked as he looked the drawings. 

“Yes,” Sam replied. “How long have you known Alice?”

“Alice had been here forever, since the community first began,” Abraham explained. “I have known her all my life. My grandfather was her husband’s best friend, I try to check in on her from time to time but she has kept away from the community for some time.”

“Sounds like she has the community on her mind a lot,” Sam said, considering how many times Alice had mentioned it. “She has mentioned several times the need to protect it.”

“It is a mutual respect. She is unusual but we have found she means well,” Abraham replied. “Her husband meant much to this community, and we try to follow his wishes.”

Sam asked curiously, “What wishes?”

“You should ask her,” Abraham asked. “Now about this cage, I see you want consecrated iron. We will need a holy man, do you prefer a priest or do you mind if we use a bishop?”

“Anyone you have will do,” Sam replied. “I know it’s on short notice.”

Sam watched as Abraham stoked the already red hot coals and wondered how Alice was doing on her mission to find animal grade tranquilizers. 

Meanwhile, just a mile down the road, Alice was about to have a full blown hissy fit. She threw her cellphone down onto the table next to her contact list. She grabbed the red pen and angrily drew a perfectly straight red line through the last name on the list before throwing the pen down beside the phone. She ran a hand down her braided hair, considering the only name she hadn’t put on the list. She picked up her phone again and prayed he hadn’t changed his number yet. 

As the ringing began she felt her heartbeat speed up and then come to a halt when he answered. “I need help,” she said. “I can’t get the tranquilizers we need for Dean. You have anyone who can help?”

“I might,” John stated. “Let me grab my book.”

Alice listened to page after page being turned, wanting to ask if he had already mailed the package to her. She needed it back. “I’ve got a guy in Alabama, he’s a veterinarian. He might be able to get you some house tranquilizers. I knew you were hoping for a zoologist and some elephant tranqs, but he’s the best I can do,” John said, his voice firm, not letting any emotion through. “I’ll call him and ask him to send you everything he can without getting either one of you in trouble. I’ll have him overnight the stuff.”

“Thanks John,” Alice said with a sigh. “You worried about what we’re about to do?”

“No,” John said. “You’ll handle it. That’s what you do.”

“What if we can’t save him,” Alice asked. “What if he can’t be brought back?”

“That’s not going to happen, I won’t let it happen,” John said angrily. “And neither will you.”

Alice heard the call disconnect and laid her head tiredly on the table. She hoped they could find a way but…there weren’t any guarantees in their line of work. She wondered how Dean was holding up. If he had any sentient thoughts left in his head or if he was only a predator now; if his broken leg slowed him down the older Wendigos might kill him for being the weakling. Nature was brutal. 

Meanwhile, it was nearly sundown in the state forest. The cool breeze lifted the fog off the little creeks that were scattered through the trees, sending little clouds into the evening air. The leaves were beginning to fall and the riverbeds were becoming more and more noticeable. The slight crunch of leaves would have gone unnoticed if it hadn’t been for the slight smell of sweat that accompanied it. He slowly crept through the underbrush towards the sound, his sensitive hearing picking up the subtle sound of gravel being disturbed. A cool breeze caressed his naked body; he didn’t notice the cold anymore, only the hunger that never ended. He would hunt alone tonight and eat his fill. 

The dull, continuous ache in his leg had made him too late to share in the hunt earlier; his nest mates pushing him away when he arrived to eat his share. He had been forced to wait until the others had lost interest in the cold, congealing mess; picking through their scraps. He sniffed again, a snarl forming on his lips. He leapt from his hiding place, the unearthly howl mixing with the screams of fear. 

He wouldn’t be hungry tonight.


	17. The Ink is Mightier than the Stink

Sam woke to the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. He quietly crept out of the room he was sharing with Garth and past the room where Bobby was sleeping. Alice had reluctantly offered to house them for the duration of their hunt, the drive over the mountain to their cabin taking away valuable hours each day. Sam walked into the kitchen where the only lamp was lit in the farmhouse. Alice was sitting at the table, thumbing through her journal while idling stirring a cup of tea. Sam paused in the doorway, not sure if he had been noticed and unsure if she would tolerate him invading her space. She had been angry and silent when he had returned from the blacksmith, although Bobby had privately told him that she had been that way before Sam had returned. He was about to step back into the hallway when she pushed a chair towards him without looking up. 

As Sam sat down he asked, “What are you looking for? You must have that thing memorized by now.”

“You’d think so, since I wrote it,” Alice said with a sigh. “But you’d be amazed what you forget over time. I was hoping for any clue or note that might make me reconsider how to try to bring Dean back from being a Wendigo.”

Sam sat quietly and watched Alice flip through the pages for an hour before he said, “Did you talked to my dad today?”

Alice stopped flipping the pages and looked up for the first time. “Yes,” she replied. “He’s arranging the tranquilizers for us. I struck out.”

“Why isn’t he here,” Sam asked angrily. “He should be here.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” Alice said firmly. “John lives and hunts in a very black and white world. It’s how he lives with his decisions; there can be no gray in his eyes. Dean becoming what he hunts, what we hunt; definitely falls into gray area. Be glad he’s not here. You and Dean are close, you can protect the person you know he is. So can Bobby.”

“And you,” Sam asked, holding her gaze. “What is your place in this? What motivates your hunt?”

“I protect you. And Bobby. And Garth,” Alice answered. “In this particular hunt, Dean comes last.”

Sam nodded slowly, his hair covering his eyes. Dean would have been teasing him about needing a haircut by now. He was amazed at how lonely he was, even though he was surrounded by fellow hunters. He needed to find his brother. 

Alice turned the book towards him, a page of sigils laid open. He recognized some of them from his father’s hunting journal but a few looked more archaic. “What are these,” Sam asked as he traced a finger lightly over the page. 

Alice said tiredly, “Some are the same as what you might use to repel a Wendigo, probably the same ones you carved into the trees to keep the Wendigos away from you on your first night in the forest.”

“And the others,” Sam asked. 

Alice rolled up one of the sleeves on her sweater and held her arm out, sigils drawn in black lacing their way up her arm; she replied, “Our saving grace. I’ve relied on them a few times; they can help discourage a Wendigo from getting too close. One of the down sides is that they don’t always work consistently, it can depend on the age of the Wendigo, the preparation method of the ink, and it can even depend on where the Wendigo is in its feeding and hibernation cycle. It’s not an exact science by any means.”

Sam nodded absentmindedly as he looked at the black symbols; they seemed to move slightly in the dancing light causing him to rub his burning, tired eyes. He still hadn’t managed to get any real sleep. He had begun to have nightmares of Dean devouring hikers, leaving nothing but sneakers with feet still in them. 

“You going to be ready for tomorrow,” Alice asked as she pulled her sleeve back into place, resisting the urge to shiver as the sweater brushed the ultra-sensitive skin. “Are you ready for the possibility that we might fail?”

Sam laid his head onto his arms tiredly and said, “I’m ready to get my brother back. We just have to find a way to drive out the Wendigo and keep Dean together while we do it.”

Alice sat quietly, stirring her now cup of cold tea; humming a song she hadn’t thought of in years, a song she had sung to Sam in the pediatrics’ ward all those years ago. As she watched his eyes slide closed, she slowly raised from her chair. She continued to hum the lullaby as she dipped the tip of the delicate brush into the dark, swirling ink. Sam never stirred as she carefully dripped the ink onto his open palms although he shivered slightly as the ink carefully climbed his arms and burrowed into position. 

Sam woke with his face throbbing, he lifted his head from the table and tried to rub the ache away. He was still sitting there when Bobby walked into the kitchen and said, “Holy crap, Sam! What happened to you? You start the party without us?”

Sam rubbed a hand over his stubbly face and rolled his eyes as he said, “I’m not hung over Bobby; I guess I fell asleep while I was talking to Alice last night.”

“I’m not talking about the wood grain on your face, son. I’m talking about this,” Bobby exclaimed as he pulled Sam’s arm into view. Sam froze when he saw the black sigils on his arms. He watched as they seemed to move ever so slightly as he tried to turn his arms to get a better look at them. He ran a light finger over one of them, wondering how Alice had drawn them without him noticing. He quickly pulled his finger away as the sensation created by touching them caused him to shiver. They burned like ice. 

Garth wandered in behind Bobby and held up his own arms which were beginning to show the same markings and said, “Pretty cool, huh? I wonder if I can get Alice to draw me a real badass tattoo next. This whole no needle thing is awesome.” 

Bobby was comparing the sigils on each of their arms when Alice walked into the kitchen. Unlike Sam and Garth, she was already ready for the day’s hunt. She had braided her hair and pinned it to her head tightly to keep out of the way, her worn leather boots already laced tightly, and her rifle slung over her shoulder. The smell of gun oil permeated the kitchen, making Sam think of Dean. 

“You boys going to be ready soon,” Alice asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee. 

“Alice, what’s the deal with the ink,” Sam asked in disbelief. “You really felt the need to pull a sneak attack?”

“Well, we need to get a move on. I knew we wouldn’t have a lot of time this morning to get all of you done,” Alice said. “So I got an early start.”

Bobby sat down at the table grumpily and said, “Am I the bait then?”

“What do you mean,” Alice said as she leaned against the counter. 

Bobby held up his arms, their lack of ink noticeable against the others in the room. Alice laughed and set her coffee cup down in the sink. “No, you’re not bait Bobby. But would you have really expected me to sneak into your room and apply the ink? I’m not a newbie. I know what you keep under your pillow and we have no time to stop by the local emergency room with our schedule today. I’ll get it now if you’re ready.”

“Wait,” Garth said with a confused look on his face. “How did you do mine? I’m armed in my bed too.”

“Well Garth, being armed in bed only works if you’re alert enough to know someone’s in your room,” Alice said as she sat down at the table with a small box in hand. “Unlike most people I encounter, you snore louder than a diesel engine. You never even twitched.”

Alice pulled a small brush out of the box and set it delicately on the table. Next she pulled out a small bottle of ink, the script on the bottle almost illegible from age. “What is it made out of,” Bobby asked as she pulled his arms towards her, palms facing up. 

“The brush is actually made of bone, even the bristles. It’s been shaved so finely that the bristles are flexible. Bobby, don’t move,” Alice said as she carefully dipped the brush into the ink before holding it out, dripping the ink onto his open palms. Bobby shivered as the ink began to slide up his arms, forming into the sigils that would help keep him safe in the forest. Even after the ink had moved into position, the burning sensation continued making Bobby reach to touch his forearms. 

Alice caught his eye and shook her head. “Don’t touch it, it will make it worse,” she said as she slipped the box into her jacket pocket. 

“So, who’s ready to bag a live Wendigo,” Alice asked. Sam didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the way she said the word live. 

It took another hour to get the truck loaded and another thirty minutes to help Abraham load the large iron cage. Once it was loaded, Abraham explained some of the changes he had made to Sam’s drawings. 

“I gathered from your drawings that you might be wanting to keep whatever it is inside, as confined as possible. I added a few locking restraints, they’ve been embedded right into the metal so unless your…prey….is strong enough to either rip its own arms off, or break through the iron, you should stand a chance of keeping it relatively still. Hope that doesn’t negatively affect your original plan,” Abraham said hesitantly. 

Sam smiled and said, “Actually it’s perfect. Wish I had thought of it.”

“The bishop stopped by again earlier. He consecrated the iron before we began to heat it. He wanted to consecrate the cage when it was finished,” Abraham stated.

Abraham waved as they drove away, the cage securely covered by canvas; he hoped that whatever they were after would be held securely enough. He knew that he didn’t want anything strong enough to break out of it to be running around the small farming community; he also knew that any more trouble on Allison’s part might jeopardize her acceptance. 

The drive into the forest was silent, none of the hunters speaking with each other. Alice and Sam drove the truck while Bobby and Garth drove behind in the Nova. Alice had previously made each one of them a small pack to carry, bringing to Sam’s memory the backpacks he had packed for him and Dean so many weeks ago. The biggest difference, aside from the lack of cartoon characters, was the fairly large case inside of each one containing several syringes loaded with a sedative. 

Bobby had managed to get each one of them their own tranquilizer gun, but had insisted on carrying the syringes in case they ended up in close quarters with Dean. They were also armed with flare guns; they still didn’t know how other Wendigos were in the forest, although Alice had seen at least four when she had last seen Dean. 

As Alice pulled off of the overgrown service road and onto a barely visible pathway, Sam began to get nervous. He knew that one way or the other, Dean was leaving the forest today. He glanced at Alice, she seemed calm, ready. He breathed out a slow breath, trying to loosen the tightness forming in his chest. 

Once the vehicles were pulled over far enough from the hiking paths, Alice killed the engine. They sat quietly for a minute, the forest seemed quiet. No animal sounds, not even a cricket or bird. Alice had certainly pinpointed their hunting grounds. 

As they stepped from their vehicles, Garth nervously grabbed his tranquilizer gun from the seat. Alice motioned for him to point it down and gathered them together, and stated, “We need to set snares first. If it’s not limping, light it up. If it’s limping, use the tranqs. If you can’t be sure before you have to react, use the tranqs. If we tranq the wrong Wendigo, we can always kill it. But if we kill Dean...we don’t get a second chance. These tranquilizers are high grade; that vet sent M99. It’s illegal for us to have and extremely potent. You get hit with it; you’ll die before we can get you out of here. We can’t risk any autopsies. Be careful.”

“There’s no antidote,” Garth whispered excitedly. 

“Of course there is! Well, sort of,” Alice explained. “Each of the bags has the reversal agent, but there’s no guarantee.”

“How do we know that it won’t kill Dean,” Sam asked worriedly. He knew they had no way to calculate a normal dose for a Wendigo, but going in syringes loaded was beginning to make him worry. 

“We don’t,” Alice said. “We’ll just have to monitor him. If it looks like it’s too much, we can slowly add the reversal agent to his IV line. But slowly. We don’t want to just waste the stuff and let him get close enough to use us as toothpicks.”

Sam nodded and followed Bobby down the overgrown trail. Alice and Garth headed down the other. Every half mile, Alice and Garth set a snare while Bobby and Sam did the same on their side of the valley. Garth had started out by nervously asking questions every few minutes, stopping only after Alice had threatened to tranquilize him and use him as bait. The eerie silence returned to the forest. 

They met back up at the vehicles after all the snares had been set. Alice passed a thermos of coffee around, Bobby passing a flask around behind it. The cold, damp air cut into their skin; they knew it would be dusk before they would have any real action, and it would be hours before the sun started to go down. 

“Don’t we need bait,” Garth asked. 

“For now, our scent will draw them out,” Alice said. She lifted the crock of potent stench out of the truck bed and placed it on the tailgate. “Then we get to use this.”

Meanwhile, a mile away, the subtle scent of gun oil, sweat, and fried foods wafted through the trees. The scent was unnoticed by the lone deer that had wandered into the valley, but it was the cause of five sets of dark eyes to slide open. They lumbered through the darkness towards the entrance of the shallow cave. The light was still too bright, but beginning to fade. It wouldn’t be too long before they could hunt.


	18. Not For Nothing

It was nearly dusk when Alice opened the crock of evil smelling nastiness. She held it out to Bobby who held his hands up in the air, nose wrinkled in disgust, and said, “Ladies first.”

Alice rolled her eyes and used a narrow wooden spoon to pull out a large wad of the goo. It looked almost as bad as it stunk; it was dark green goo with small chunks of brown, black, and deep red. Alice used the spoon to smear it on her jacket, down her legs and arms, and even managed to get some on her hair. She smeared two striped across her cheeks and said, “This will smell like the sweetest perfume after you have a Wendigo breath into your face. Talk about death breath.”

Sam snorted and reached for the spoon next. He was almost done when they heard a loud screech in the distance. “They’ve got our scent,” Alice said, gun in hand. “Good. Maybe we can be home and showered before this stuff dries on.”

Garth and Bobby watched as Sam finished smearing the nasty substance on himself, each vying to be next. Bobby won out when he pointed out that Garth had gotten his sigils first. 

“Hurry up, Bobby,” Garth said anxiously as he looked from Bobby to the trees. “I don’t want to get eaten.”

“You’re not going to get eaten,” Bobby said with a hint of a grin. “Killed maybe, but we’ll be sure you don’t get dragged off and chomped on.”

“Uh, thanks,” Garth said. “I guess. Man, all I wanted to do was salt and burn some creepy ghosts, save the girl, and get laid. Now I’m out in the woods, covered in monster repellent goo, and looking for some naked dude. Not how I thought my first hunt would go.”

Sam laughed and smacked him on the back and said, “You’ll be amazed at how many hunts turn out this way.”

Bobby chuckled and handed each one of them their guns, “You’re armed. We need to stay together until we know we have got them all, watch each other’s back, and do not get separated no matter what.”

They moved together into the trees, packs tightly in place, guns in hand. They moved as quietly as possible, using hand signals when necessary. Sam was the first to see them, a group of four, none of them limping as they edged towards the vehicles. Sam watched as the group broke up into pairs of two, moving towards the vehicles carefully. The Wendigos didn’t make a sound as they crept past the hunters, who had their backs to a large fallen tree. Alice gave the signal to Bobby; he took a step and looked through the scope. He knew he couldn’t be accurate with a flare gun at this distance, but he could certainly take one down with the tranquilizer gun. It dart barely made a noise as it left the barrel, but the silence was shattered when the Wendigo shrieked as the dart embedded itself deep in its skin. 

The three other Wendigos took off into the brush as other Wendigo fell to the ground, it tried for several seconds to right itself but stopped moving in less than a minute. Sam patted Bobby on the shoulder, acknowledging the hit. Alice tapped Sam’s arm, pointing in the direction the Wendigos had gone, she held a hand to her ear and cocked her head to one side. Sam stopped moving and listened. There was definite movement ahead, the sound of small branches being broken, combined with the sudden snarls that filled the air made the group of hunters move forward. 

One of the remaining three Wendigos had been caught in a snare, and was swinging high over their heads although it was trying to get itself loose from the strong cord that Alice has used in the snares. Bobby was about to pull the trigger on the flare gun when Garth stopped him and motioned with his own. Bobby gave a small, crooked grin and moved over, giving Garth the best shot. Garth’s smile as he pulled the trigger was worth it to Bobby; Garth was on his way to becoming a serious hunter. The Wendigo gave a great shriek as the fire consumed it. Two down, two to go; and still no sight of Dean. 

They continued to move quietly through the brush, back to back, each scanning the ground and the branches overhead. Alice could tell by his body language that Garth was feeling more confident and was beginning to feel like part of the team, moving in time with them and taking care to watch his partner’s back as well as his own. 

As they began to move farther away from the vehicles, Bobby motioned the group to stop. He nudged Sam’s shoulder and pointed up with the barrel of his gun; Sam looked where Bobby was pointing and spotted the claw marks that had scarred the tree trunks, hundreds of them. They were getting close to where ever the nest was. 

Sam was just about to point out the marks to Garth, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Garth pull the trigger. He watched as a large Wendigo fell dead at his feet, fire beginning to take hold of the withered corpse. He looked over his shoulder at Garth, their wide eyes meeting briefly, before nodding at each other and continuing to walk. One more to go. But where was Dean?

As they began to search the other side of the small valley, they continued to look for any signs of the last Wendigo and Dean. As the last of the daylight began to fade, Alice navigated them back to the vehicles. She knew Sam was angry and upset that they didn’t catch Dean, but three other Wendigos out of the way was a big help in the long run. 

As they arrived at the truck Sam tossed his pack angrily into the cab, slamming the door as he did. “We’ll get him Sam,” Bobby said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He’s out here somewhere.”


	19. Reunion Blues

Bobby could tell from Sam’s face that he was about to lose it. They had only been back to Alice’s farmhouse for about an hour when he saw Sam headed for the front door, backpack in one hand, and flare gun in the other. He stepped in front of the door just was Sam reached for the doorknob. 

“Bobby,” Sam said, his voice cracking from fear, exhaustion, and anger. “Get out of my way.”

“No,” Bobby said. “I know where you’re going and you can’t find him like that. We’ll be going out again in just a few hours, at sunrise. That gives you a few hours to sleep, and frankly, Sam, you need some sleep.”

“What does that mean,” Sam asked, his voice getting cruel.

“It means a Wendigo got so close to you without you even knowing, that a new hunter killed it at your feet,” Bobby said. “Garth saved your life today, luckily.”

Sam reached for the doorknob again. “Move Bobby,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Hey Sam,” Alice called from the doorway behind him. 

“WHAT?!” Sam yelled out. “You want to get in on this? You wanna tell me to sit down and take a breather while my brother manages to escape into the mountains? What happens when we can’t find him? Or catch him? Or what if he migrates up north with another Wendigo?”

“I wanted to give you something,” Alice said. Something about her voice made Sam leery, he turned slowly towards her voice. Just as Sam turned to face her, Alice pulled the trigger on the small tranquilizer gun. He felt the sting as it bit into this thigh, Bobby placing a hand on his back, ready to ease him to the floor. 

“Bobby,” Sam said. “What-“

“You need to get some sleep Sam,” Bobby said as Sam began to feel himself sinking to the floor. “You nearly got yourself killed out there today. You’re way off your game.”

Bobby laid a hand on Sam’s chest, watching his eyes dilate and close slowly, his breathing a steady rhythm. He looked up at Alice and said, “I’m guessing that wasn’t the M99.”

“No,” Alice said as she grabbed Sam’s feet. “Personal supply. Grab his shoulders; we can try to move him to the couch.”

They had just gotten Sam haphazardly situated on the couch when Garth walked in and asked, “What happened to Sam?”

“Sam needed a little mandatory rest,” Bobby stated. “Nothing to worry about.”

It was hours before Sam woke up, his head pounding and his vision fuzzy around the edges. He slowly swung his feet to the floor, his shoes missing. He glanced around the room, he could hear rain pounding on the roof and thunder cracking overhead. He tried to slowly get to his feet, it was the third attempt before he managed to get off the couch. He noticed a small light in the kitchen and walked towards it. 

He saw the oil lamp on the table, a note in front of it. He staggered over to read it, ‘Gone to check the snares. Stay put. Be back by noon.’

Sam pulled chair out from the table and sat down, realizing for the first time that Alice didn’t have a single clock in her kitchen. He wondered how long he’d have to wait for anyone to return. 

Meanwhile, fifty miles away in the forest, Alice was feeling pretty darn good about herself. They had managed to maneuver the truck through the muddy forest roads and park it nearby their previous hunting spot. They hadn’t been walking for more than a half mile when she heard the loud, shrill shrieking that let her know they had something. 

As they approached the sound, Bobby kept his tranquilizer gun in his hand, motioning for Alice and Garth to switch to the flare guns. It was a fifty-fifty chance of being Dean. 

As Bobby came in sight of the Wendigo, hanging precariously by one leg, a pit formed in his stomach. The Wendigo had nearly taken its own leg off to in attempt to get free. The knee joint had been torn apart, exposing bone and muscle. It didn’t seem to pay any attention to its audience, its only thought given to freeing itself. 

Bobby turned to Alice and asked, “What do you think?”

Alice stood for a minute, considering the Wendigo hanging before them. She cocked her head to one side, considering the height, weight, and characteristics it had. She walked closer, looking at its legs for the telltale break she knew Dean had suffered. 

She raised her flare gun and pulled the trigger without any hesitation. 

“Not him,” she said as she reloaded her gun. “Besides, this one had a tattoo when it was human; Daffy Duck, left butt cheek. Not really thinking that was Dean.” 

Garth looked at Bobby and asked, “What now?”

Bobby shook his head and turned to Alice. She shrugged and said, “Garth, you go with Bobby and cut the snares loose. Now that we know what they’ll do to get loose, we can’t risk Dean doing the same thing. I’ll get the truck.” 

Bobby nodded his consent and followed Garth into the brush. Alice headed back to the truck, flare gun in hand. She stepped onto the small service road and began the half mile hike back to the truck. She was a dozen yards from the truck when she heard it, a slight growl followed by what sounded like a sneeze. 

She instinctively cocked the flare gun before realizing that unless there was another Wendigo, it was Dean she was hearing. She dropped the flare gun onto the damp ground and pulled her tranquilizer gun off her shoulder, bringing up about chest height. She scanned the trees overhead, nothing. 

She began a slow circle of the area, keeping low and trying to keep her footfalls light. As she approached the truck, she realized the passenger window was shattered and the door ripped off, hanging by one mangled hinge. Her mouth went dry, wondering if the consecrated iron cage could hold him or if he would just rip her in half. She heard movement ahead of her; she tried to will her heart to be quieter, and her breathing to calm down. She needed to be able to hear something other than her own heartbeat. She felt the slight stinging as the sigils began to move down her arms, sliding from under her long sleeves, and finally settling on her hands, the closest thing to Dean. 

She ignored the burning sensation as she stepped into view of the truck; the movement in the shadowy cab getting more pronounced. She briefly wondered what he could possibly want from the truck; Wendigos only need one thing, food. 

As she slowly walked to the passenger side of the truck she brought her arms up, hands steady and one finger on the trigger, safety off. She stepped toward the cab, closing the distance between herself and what she hoped was Dean, stopping about 4 yards from the cab. She wondered if she could take the chance of luring him out or if she should shoot him while he was inside the truck. 

 

She gave a mental shrug and cleared her throat. The movement stopped for ten seconds before a cry came from the truck. She was relieved to note the difference in this one, it sounded less animalistic than the other Wendigos they had killed. She would take anything less than Wendigo as a sign of something more human, something Sam could work with. Something they could bring back. 

He charged her from the cab, her finger pulling the trigger just as he exited the cab. She backed up quickly, never turning her back to him, worried as he kept coming. She pulled the trigger again, wondering how much of the M99 he could take before his heart gave out. His steps faltered for a step before he took another one, hand held towards her, hunger in his eyes. 

He stopped and crouched to the ground, panting slightly. She relaxed her stance, not noticing the slight change of his stance, weight pushed forward on his arms. Alice heard movement a few yards away, Bobby and Garth finally catching up to her. Alice opened to her mouth to speak, but froze when Bobby quickly took aim and pulled the trigger on his own gun. She turned as she saw Dean, a third dart embedded in his chest, mid-leap. He crashed into her, both of them landing in a heap on the ground. 

“Get him off!” Alice yelled, trying to push Dean away. “Get him off!”

“He’s out,” Bobby yelled. “Garth, get the cage opened up!”

Alice crawled out from under Dean and sprinted for the truck. She grabbed to bag of IV supplies Bobby had stuffed behind the seat, pulling the central line pack from the bag before dropping it on the ground. Garth and Bobby began the task of hauling Dean into the cage and securing his arms and legs in the specially made restraints provided by Abraham. Alice began to watch his face for any sign of the M99 being broken down by his new, intense metabolism; she was dismayed to find his breathing slowing down and his heart rate plummeting. 

“Shit,” she mumbled as she jumped down into the ground and grabbed the pack she had tossed earlier. 

“What’s wrong Alice,” Bobby asked. “Don’t tell me he’s waking up already.”

“No,” Alice said as she readied the other syringe. “Quite the opposite. Three hits of the M99 were too much for him. We have to use the reversal compound.”

“Is that such a good idea,” Garth asked. “You still have to put his central line in for the other sedative.”

“We’ll have to go slowly,” Alice said. “If he dies now, Sam will kill us all.”

Bobby gave Alive a hand as she climbed back up into the truck bed, syringe held in her teeth. She handed the central line kit to Bobby, “Can you put one of these in?” 

Bobby nodded and took the bag, “I’ve known these boys so long I know how to do just about anything that doesn’t require radiation or staples.”

Garth watched in awe as Bobby began the task of prepping Dean’s elongated hand for the task at hand. Bobby carefully selected the vein he wanted, moving the needle into position before sliding the plastic cannula in place allowing him to remove the needle. He quickly taped the line place and grabbed the bag of fluids he had mixed earlier. He hadn’t mentioned to Alice that aside from the less harmful sedative in the bag he had blessed the saline solution, making a holy water cocktail. 

He watched as Alice began to slowly inject the reversal agent for the M99; her eyes intent on Dean’s breathing, one hand on his heart. 

“Any idea what the normal vital signs are for a Wendigo,” Garth asked, almost sarcastically. Alice shot him a soul smoldering glare, quieting him down. 

She continued to slowly push the plunger on the syringe, checking him every few cc’s for changes. Once she was satisfied, she moved out of the cage and motioned for Bobby to set the other IV in motion. Once they were all cleared from the cage, Bobby locked it and sagged against the cab of the truck. He had known they were in it to win it, but quite frankly Dean looked like shit warmed over twice. 

Alice stepped back from the truck in jubilant exhaustion. She grinned at Garth and Bobby and said, “How does it feel to have bagged your first and last live Wendigo?”

After much deliberating and finally a round of rock, paper, scissors; Garth ended up sitting by the torn out passenger door, the dampness from the road making him shiver as Bobby drove as carefully as he could. They didn’t hear a peep from Dean as they drove the fifty miles back Alice’s. Abraham waved as they drove by, eyes wide as he saw the truck door tied to the roof. 

They weren’t even out of the cab when Sam came running out of the house, slipping on the wet steps and falling flat on his ass. He sat on the wet ground for a minute, watching as they all climbed out of the damaged truck, wet and muddy, but smiling like fools.

Sam slowly climbed to his feet, his head still pounding from his involuntary drug induced nap. He walked to the truck and began to untie the tarp wrapped around the large cage. As the tarp fell away, he saw his brother for the first time in seven weeks. 

Dean was emaciated, his skin tight of his bones, his hands slightly elongated, and the hair he had been so vainly proud of far less full than it had been. Sam stared, unable to speak. For a split second he wondered if Dean would be able to be brought back or even recover from what lay ahead. 

He sighed, his resolve wavering. He watched as Bobby and Garth began to unlock the cage, Alice standing over the procedure with her rifle in hand. It brought the image of a prisoner transport to Sam’s mind, the only thing missing was the Hannibal mask. 

He watched as Dean was maneuvered inside the house, carried down the cellar steps and deposited in the panic room. He fitted the cotton lined restraints around Dean’s wrists, wishing his brother could stay in a dreamless, drug induced state until he could figure out a cure. 

As he stood up from the last leg restraint he saw Dean turn his head, he stepped closer and saw faded green eyes staring at him. 

Upstairs, the others were sitting around the table, the adrenaline finally beginning to wear off, which hadn’t affected their ability to pass a friendly bottle between them in celebration. Sam joined them after an hour of being with Dean, which had been spent trying to gently wash away the dirt and grime so Sam could figure out what medical problems they might encounter.

As Sam sat down, Bobby passed the bottle to him. “Where do we start next, Sam,” Bobby asked. “You have any idea what to do?”

Sam shrugged and looked at the group that had risked life and limb to save his brother. “I spent a few hours reading Alice’s journal,” Sam admitted. “It seems a lot of the legends that involve a person becoming a Wendigo start with cannibalism. From there it becomes a possession of the spirit, which is associated most with winter and famine. In the end, it’s all about conditioning. The spirit does what it does and the person transforms over time. The more powerful the spirit, the faster it changes them.”

“So you think we can go in reverse,” Garth asked, not sure he was following Sam correctly.

Sam shrugged sadly. “It’s the only thing I can think of for now, but I want to go talk with an Indian chief up North. I called him today, his wife told me they would discuss Dean within a small group they know, and hopefully be able to give me a few ideas.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bobby said as he raised his glass.

Just then the howling started, a pained cry; that made everyone at the table cringe. 

“Oh hell,” Alice said. “That better not last all night. I had a dog that did that once.”

“What did you do about it,” Garth asked. 

“Well, I have a small pet cemetery out back if you really want to know,” Alice said with a straight face causing Garth to shoot whiskey from his nose. She gave a small chuckle and passed the bottle.


	20. Moving Forward, One Smell at a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone out there who has studied Wendigos, my apologies; we’re about to head off course. There are no reported cures for becoming a Wendigo. There is actually a thing known as the Wendigo Psychosis, which is regarded as a culture bound disease; there have been few cases reported since the early nineteenth century and therefore little fact to pick through. Mostly they ended up in psych wards heavily medicated, some committed suicide, or were euthanized by their own shaman or chiefs. This ends today’s lesson in Wendigo culture. No wonder Bobby has a library; this whole research thing is awesome.

Sam woke to the sound of howling, he was surprised he had even managed to fall asleep. Dean had only stopped howling for thirty minutes at a time, and like clockwork would start again. Alice had considered upping the sedative, but was nervous about the combined effect of the M99 and the less damaging horse tranquilizer cocktail that she and Bobby had concocted. As the howling began again with more intensity, Sam wondered how strong Dean would be as the M99 wore off, worrying at the possibility of Dean escaping his restraints and then the panic room. 

As a loud banging sound began, Sam leapt from his bed and tore down the hallway of the farmhouse, nearly knocking Bobby down in the hallway was they both vied to fit down the stairwell to the cellar. They arrived to find Alice, leaning against the panic room door, looking through the small window in the door. She spoke as they stepped behind her, “He’s awake. Slowly testing his restraints, I can’t tell if the sedative is really working or if he’s just playing possum until someone gets close enough to grab.”

Bobby shrugged, “There might not be any way to tell that until someone goes in.”

Alice turned towards them and shook her head, “No one is going in without a spotter.”

Sam sighed and began walking back up the stairs, “I’ll get the gun. I’ll go in and check the cuffs and see how he’s doing.”

Sam walked into the kitchen to get the gun from the table; Garth was standing in the kitchen looking pale, a bloody apron tied around his torso, cleaver in his hand. 

Sam froze when he saw the knife, and said, “Garth, you okay?”

“Uh, not really,” Garth said. He set the cleaver down and clutched the edge of the counter. He set a small bucket on the counter, turning a shade of green Sam hadn’t ever seen before. “Here’s his breakfast, I know he’s hungry.”

Sam curiously picked up the bucket, looking inside, wondering what Garth meant. He gagged as the smell finally hit him. The bucket was full of coarsely cut meat; Sam saw a finger in the bucket as well. He looked at Garth; who had tears starting to form in his eyes. He tried to wipe his cheek as one rolled down but froze when his bloody hand came into view. 

Bobby walked in the kitchen to find Garth hunched over the sink, dry heaving and sobbing, while Sam slowly rubbed circles on his back, trying to comfort the younger man. Bobby picked up the bucket and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing the trang gun and headed back downstairs to Alice. He wordlessly gave the gun to Alice and unlocked the door, slowly pushing it open and walking inside. 

Alice stepped inside the room, pulling the door closed; gun in hand, eyes on Dean’s form. Bobby walked around Dean, trying to get a look at each restraint. He watched as Dean’s eyes tracked him around the room, growling slightly when Bobby stepped closer. Dean lifted his head, sniffing the air. Bobby knew Dean could smell the blood in the bucket, wondering if it was going to be edible, they weren’t going to be able to get fresher unless they dug up a new grave; something he prayed they didn’t have to do. 

Bobby lifted a hunk of meat out of the bucket, Dean curled his lips back, shoving his slightly pointed teeth. Bobby dropped the meat into Dean’s mouth, looking away as the sound of chewing made his stomach churn. He continued until the bucket was empty. 

Alice walked closer and adjusted the drip rate on the IV line, increasing the medication administration. Bobby watched as Dean’s movements slowed until his hands stilled and his head rolled aimlessly to one side. Bobby slowly lifted one of Dean’s eyelids, letting them see the dilated green orb. 

“Dean,” Bobby said. “You in there?”

Dean didn’t even twitch, lying as lifeless as a rag doll. 

“You better not die or go permanently dark side, it’ll kill Sam,” Bobby said. “Then I’ll have to kick both your asses.”

Alice reached out into the hallway and grabbed a few supplies Bobby hadn’t noticed before. She set a bucket of warm, soapy water near Dean’s feet; handing a wash cloth the Bobby before dunking her own in the suds. 

Bobby chuckled as she said, “The first thing that makes me feel human after a day in the woods is a long hot bath.”

They worked as a team, each taking an arm and working down to his toes. They didn’t speak as they began to dig the dirt, grime, and dried blood from under his fingernails. Alice pulled a pair of nail clippers out and began the job of reshaping his claws. Bobby attempted to wash the dirt from Dean’s hair, dismayed as it seemed to fall out into his hands. When they were done, Alice and Bobby stretched a blanket over his midsection, giving him privacy. They moved to his broken leg. Bobby ran a hand down his lower leg, feeling the calcified lump that marked where the bone that had healed on its own. 

“It’s amazing he survived with a broken leg. I’m surprised they didn’t kill him for being the weakest link,” Bobby said. 

“I can imagine he held his own, he is John Winchester’s son after all,” Alice said with a snort. 

Bobby didn’t look up from scrutinizing the leg as he asked, “You worried John’s going to show up in the middle of the night?”

Alice shrugged noncommittally, “No clue, he’s surprised me before but I’d just as likely shoot him as let him down here. It may be his son, but I worry about John’s ability to give us time to find a way to save Dean.”

“Me too,” Bobby admitted. “Best he stays focused on whatever hunt he’s working on now.”

“So what do you think about the leg? Break now or later,” Alice asked. 

“It’s a toss-up. We could re-break it now and reset it; Wendigo’s heal quickly, so it might actually help heal the bone faster if we do it now. On the other hand, he might need surgery to correct it, which means a surgeon, a hospital, and physical therapy,” Bobby said. “None of which can be gotten while he’s looking like the boogey man.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Alice said. “What about a vet of sorts? I may know someone.”

“Might as well call them and see what they say,” Bobby replied.

They stood back and observed their handiwork. Dean’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, without the layer upon of layer of grime he looked slightly more like himself, aside from the obvious Wendigo features. They grabbed the bucket and washcloths and headed for the door. 

When they returned upstairs, Sam was on the phone and Garth was sitting at the table, coffee cup in hand even though Bobby and Alice could smell the whiskey when they walked into the kitchen. Bobby patted Garth on the shoulder and headed for his own room to get some rest. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, listening to Dean howl while he made phone calls to his contacts for any ideas. 

Sam walked back into the kitchen and tossed the phone on the table, letting out a deep, angry sigh. 

“Problem, Sam,” Alice asked she washed the blood out of the sink and began to pull things out to make breakfast for the boys. 

“Yeah, I got a call from that Indian chief I told you about,” Sam spat. “They told me that if I have a real Wendigo on my hands, they recommend killing it. They have no legends that would lend any hope to helping Dean. They said it’s a spirit possession and that the Wendigo spirit will only leave when Dean dies.”

“So I say we kill him, and then revive him,” Garth interjected. “People get brought back all the time, just get a defibrillator.” 

Sam looked at Garth and shook his head. “We’d just encourage the Wendigo spirit to possess someone else, one of us most likely since we’re closest. Besides, we have no way of knowing if Dean would survive it and I’m not thrilled with the idea of tossing in the towel just yet.”

Alice fixed breakfast and set the plates on the table. “I agree with you Sam. At least for now; later, when we know a little bit more about how to reverse the conditioning Dean underwent, we may have to consider it.” 

“How long before he can eat vegetables,” Garth asked, holding his head in his hands. “I don’t want to have to……make him breakfast again.”

Alice sighed, “I have no idea. We can try tonight though, the faster we get him away from the Wendigo diet I imagine the faster we can get him back. Feed the man, not the monster.”

Sam nodded and began to look through Alice’s journal again. He had to find a way. 

Meanwhile, downstairs, the drugged haze was beginning to dissipate leaving Dean more aware of his surroundings. He felt the bite of the restraints on his arms and legs, pulling against them to test his ability to get loose. He tried to lift his head, but found himself too weak to lift it high enough to glance around. He snarled when he realized he could smell people nearby, but for the first time maybe ever, his belly felt full. He could still taste the blood on his tongue, a small chunk is sinew caught in his teeth. 

He felt warm, a new feeling. There was no breeze, no cold forest air wrapping itself around him. The warmth moved over him in waves, lulling him to sleep. Just as sleep tried to take him again he smelled something that stirred something inside of him, a smell he felt he should know. It wasn’t the rich smell of blood, or the smell of rain or dirt; it was subtle, making his mouth water. He howled and doubled his attempt to loosen his arms. 

The howling escalated until Bobby wandered out into the kitchen, sleep still in his eyes. “You wanna tell me what the hell he’s doing down there,” he asked grumpily.

Alice motioned for him to follow them downstairs, her own patience waning. “He’s going to end up next to that damn dog at this rate.”

As they looked through the window, they saw Dean trying desperately to get loose. His movements were delayed and uncoordinated, the sedative doing its job. Sam watched on the howling stopped. Dean lifted his head and began taking long drawn out breaths. 

Sam made a move to open the door when Bobby stopped him. “Bobby! He’s hyperventilating, maybe the dose it wrong,” Sam said as he tried to move around Bobby. 

“No. Watch him,” Garth said. “He smells something.”

They watched as Dean continued to sniff the air, the howls replaced by something that resembled a mewling, not unlike a cat. It was painful for Sam to listen too. 

“Give me your shirt Sam, you too Bobby,” Garth said. 

“Why? What for,” Bobby asked; his voice suddenly suspicious. 

“Just trust me,” Garth said excitedly. He grabbed the shirts and opened the door, walking up to Dean slowly. He carefully laid the shirts over Dean’s face, covering his nose and eyes, leaving his mouth exposed. He tied the shirts to the bedrails, carefully to make sure they continued to cover his face, and walked out of the room. After he was back outside of the room, he turned and explained. “He’s stopped howl only when Sam or Bobby has been in the room with him,” Garth said with a large grin. “He remembers your smell. The shirts will give him a better opportunity to examine the smells. Like you said, feed the man, not the monster.”

Sam laughed for the first time in a long time. “Garth, you’re a genius. Alice, do you have a portable cd player? Or an IPod maybe?”

“Yeah, why,” Alice asked as she continued to watch Dean. 

“Metallica. AC/DC. Credence Clearwater Revival,” Sam explained. “It doesn’t get much more Dean than that.”

Bobby chuckled, “This I gotta to see.”


	21. Whiskey, Gunpowder, and a Nose Job

“Wow,” Sam said as he watched Dean through the door. “He hasn’t made a peep for two hours.” 

“Yeah, it’s a miracle,” Garth said. “It’ll be a bigger miracle if you can get him to eat something other than human flesh.”

“True, it’s been three days and he hasn’t eaten anything normal,” Sam said worriedly. “I’m not sure how this will go. Wendigos aren’t really known for their diverse diet. What if he won’t eat?”

“Well, we do still have most of a John Doe upstairs. But,” Garth said with a disgusted look. “You’re doing the prep this time.”

Meanwhile, upstairs there was a heated argument going on. Bobby stood on one side of the table, while Alice stood on the other with her arms folded. Neither one of them moved towards the cellphone on the table between them. 

“I’m not calling him,” Alice said again. 

“Well, neither am I,’ Bobby said angrily. “Make Sam do it.”

“I’m not sure anyone has to,” Alice said nonchalantly. “We could act like we never got the message.”

Bobby scoffed and shook his head. “John will rip us a new one if we don’t call him back. John may be an idjit, but it’s still his son.”

Alice stalked out of the kitchen, calling behind her, “Then you can call.”

Bobby snatched the cellphone and stalked out the front door. He angrily dialed John and waited for the ringing to start, hoping that John wouldn’t answer the phone. He cringed as he heard-

“Bobby! How long does it take to call me back,” John said angrily into the phone. “How’s Dean?”

“He’s making progress,” Bobby said. 

“How long before he’ll be ready,” John asked.

“For what,” Bobby asked, confused. 

“To be up and moving. I’ve got more cases than I can do alone. I need the boys back on the road,” John explained.

Bobby felt the wave of anger wash over him and spat in the phone, “John, Dean isn’t going to be ready for a while; maybe a long while. Get that through your thick skull. You show up here for any reason other than to help; Alice won’t be the only one waiting on the porch with a shotgun.”

As Bobby snapped the phone shut, he watched as a beat up Pinto slowly drove up the driveway. He stepped in the front door and called for Alice. She stepped out onto the front porch just as a young man stepped from the car. Bobby instantly recognized the man as being Native American. The man’s dark eyes and hair was typical but the Metallica t-shirt and faded jeans made Bobby wonder what was going on. They watched as the man hesitantly walked up the porch, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Is Sam here,” he asked.

“Who are you,” Alice asked. 

“Jim Walsh,” the young man said. “I’m from the Fox Nation. Sam called me and asked me to check out a Wendigo.” 

As they all packed into the panic room, Alice armed and standing by the door, Sam watched as Jim Walsh walked up to Dean, his eyes wide from disbelief. 

“You have no idea,” Jim Walsh. “This is unreal. My grandfather told me stories of Wendigos, but I never thought I would see one.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he told you how to save someone who’s been turned into one,” Sam asked. 

“My grandfather was like you, he hunted for unnatural things. He always had a story, said he got it from his grandfather,” Jim said. “He never tested it; he never could catch a Wendigo to try it out. How did you catch this one?” 

“Drugs, lots of drugs,” Sam said with a small smile. “So what’s the plan?”

“Well, since we can’t realistically move him to the reservation, we’re going to need to build or find a sweat lodge here,” Jim explained. “We’re going to need the Manitou.”

“Manitou,” Sam asked curiously. “I think I saw that name when I was researching Wendigo. Is that like a Wendigo enemy or something?”

Jim laughed and shook his head. “The Algonquin tribes believe the Manitou are spirit beings, they are part of everything: plants, animals, machinery even,” he explained. “They are healing; they may be able to draw out the Wendigo spirit. But we will need a sweat lodge. They live in the stones and they will travel out in the steam. They are why you will feel invigorated after you go to the sweat lodge; they go into the person and pull out the impurities. ” 

Alice considered what the young man was suggesting, it didn’t sound like total lunacy, and the Wendigo did kind of fall within the expertise of the Algonquin culture. 

“The thing I want to know is how we trap the Wendigo spirit. If we get it out of Dean, won’t it just find another person to possess,” Bobby asked. 

“Yes, but my grandfather had a plan for that,” Jim said. “Wendigos represent famine and winter. So we trap the spirit and burn it. But, Dean isn’t ready yet. The more a Wendigo embeds itself in a person, the more likely it is that the person will die without it. You’re on the right track by trying to find Dean, by appealing to his human side. The scents, the music, it was a great idea. I will say that you probably need to spend a little more time trying to get through to Dean. You want him to be able to withstand the process, if his spirit is weak he might have a hard time.”

“Well, the biggest problem we’re having is getting him to eat,” Sam said. “He only wants human flesh.”

“Well, Wendigos are insatiably hungry and food motivated. I’d say you could probably help him to expel it by starving it out,” Jim said. “You have him restrained well and if you could refrain from allowing him flesh, Dean would be better for it.”

“What if we do more damage by starving him,” Garth asked. 

“Will he eat anything other than human flesh,” Jim asked while looked at Dean. 

Sam shook his head, looking dejected. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Bobby said. “Not that anyone’s going to like it. Dean especially. But it’ll let us get normal human nutrition in him without that pesky Wendigo clamping his jaws shut. A feeding tube.”

“Seriously,” Sam asked. 

“That’s actually an ingenious idea,” Jim said. “The Wendigo won’t get his fix but Dean’s body won’t suffer any more nutritionally than he is already. What kind are you thinking of using?”

“Well, the only one I know that won’t require a trip to a hospital is the nasogastric tube,” Bobby said. “But putting one in place is still going to require someone with experience. Alice, you know of a qualified person in the area?”

“Actually,” Jim said hesitantly. “I’m qualified for that. I’m doing my residency down in Atlanta.” 

Everyone stood quietly for a few minutes, considering what they were actually about to do. “I can call my uncle, he’s a physician, and have him get me the supplies. I can have him overnight them. We still need to find a sweat lodge,” Jim said. “If this is what you want. No pressure.”

Sam nodded before he found his voice, “Yeah, it’s what we want.” 

As they filed back up the stairs, Alice said, “I think I have a place we can use as a sweat lodge. Jim, Bobby, let’s go check it out.”

Sam and Garth stayed behind as Alice led the two men across the property to a barn. Jim looked confused until she led them to a small door. She wretched it open and they all stooped to look inside the small room. The smooth river rocks that lined the floor and walls were held together with old mortar, the single light bulb hanging in the room illuminating the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. Jim stepped through the low doorframe, walking around the room, his fingertips grazing the rocks. 

“What was this used for,” Bobby asked. 

“When the barn was new, it was used for storing vegetables. Since then it’s been used for hiding runaway slaves headed for the North, smuggling during prohibition, and a few other choice activities,” Alice said. “Think you can use it Jim?”

“The stones are good,” Jim said. “I’ll have to make a few changes, if you don’t mind.”

“Have at it,” Alice said. “My barn is your barn.”

That night was the first night Sam slept for more than an hour at a time. He was nearly giddy when he bound into the kitchen the next morning, Alice already making breakfast for the ever expanding group of hunters she had taken in. As they shoveled down the pancakes and sausages, they began to discuss the day’s goals. 

“What are you going to try today,” Bobby asked. “Dangle a bottle of whiskey in front of him? Apple pie? Dirty laundry?”

Sam chuckled at the thought of hanging dirty socks over Dean. “Whiskey or pie he’ll probably forgive.”

“I’ll start working on sweat lodge in the barn. The feeding tube supplies should be here today, if the mailman can find your house,” Jim said. “It’s a maze here in the Amish settlement. I’m pretty sure I’m the first Indian to set foot here.”

“Not quite, but close,” Alice said with a sly grin. “The mail gets dropped off at the little general store, I’ll have to go pick it up.”

“What about me,” Garth asked. “Anyone need me today?”

“You and I have an errand to run,” Bobby said. “Get your gear.”

Sam didn’t see Alice hand the jar of Wendigo goo out the front door to Bobby and Garth, or the flare guns they were carrying. 

“I’ll be in the panic room,” Sam said. 

“Not without a spotter you’re not,” Alice said with a glare. 

Alice and Sam waited until Jim was in the barn before they headed downstairs. “So what did you bring,” Alice asked. 

“Smells that he’d never forget,” Sam said. He slowly untied the shirts that Garth had religiously changed out every night, stealing them from the laundry hamper. “We’ve got gun oil, gun powder, and whiskey.”

“Seriously,” Alice asked as she watched Sam pour a shot glass and hold it out to her. She hesitated as she took it. She watched Sam arrange the other items around Dean so the smells were close. They watched as Dean’s eyes opened, the spark of green much more noticeable than it had been yesterday. 

“You in there Dean,” Sam asked. “If you are, you better listen up. We’re coming in for you, just hang on.” Alice watched as Sam sat on the stool at the foot of the cot, fiddling with the MP3 player she had found.

Meanwhile, in the barn, Jim was burning sage and wheatgrass. He began to chant lowly, appealing to the Manitou and slowly started beating the small drum he had brought with him. He knew it would be a few hours until the package arrived from his uncle, he hoped he could have the barn ready by then. 

Somewhere in the cold, hungry shell that Dean had become, something stirred. It wasn’t the hunger that racked his body with pain, or the cold that made his bones ache. It was a sound, one he used to know. One that he should still know. He felt the monster inside him, its agitation growing at the smell of warm flesh and the sound of beating hearts. He tried to latch onto the sound, it was warm and soothing. There was also a smell, several of them. He pulled in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs. It smelled bitter and made his mouth water, he remembered this smell. He had smelled it before. He could almost feel the burning sensation, the warmth. He opened his eyes. 

“Sam,” Alice said, motioning to Dean. “Look.”

Sam watched as Dean looked at him, trying to lift his head so he could see. Sam slowly eased off the stool, rising into Dean’s field of vision. Sam watched as Dean began to take long, drawn out breaths. Sam held the glass out towards him. 

“Figures,” Sam said with a laugh. “He remembers whiskey.”

Alice walked out to Dean, standing by his head. She dipped a finger in her glass and held it over Dean’s face, the first drip landing in his ear. He quickly looked up at her hand, his lips pulled back in a warning. She let a few drops of the alcohol drip into his mouth. “Let’s see how far that gets him,” she said. 

Three hours later Sam, Jim, and Alice were standing around Dean, each looking apprehensive. “Okay, we’ll have to sedate him more, usually the patient’s awake for this but I really, really don’t want to get bitten,” Jim explained. He stepped up the IV line and began to adjust the rate. They waited until Dean’s eye’s closed and his breathing became a perfect rhythm and then slowly moved forward. 

“Sam, hold his head, just make sure he doesn’t move to either side,” Jim said. They watched as Jim coated the tip of the tube in xylocaine gel before he began to measure the tube, starting from Dean’s nose before looping it around his ear and then to his xyphiod process. Jim took a deep breath as he began to gently ease the tube into Dean’s nose, slowly sliding it in until he reached where the stomach should be. He picked up the large empty syringe and filled it with air before he grabbed the stethoscope and placed it on Dean’s stomach. Sam watched as Jim pushed the syringe into the end of the feeding tube before depressing the plunger. He waited until he heard the telltale sound of air rushing Dean’s stomach before smiling and turning to Sam. “Perfect,” Jim said. “We’ll have to check the tube for correct placement before every meal, in case he gets it dislodged. Also, we’ll want him to be reclined but not lying flat for feedings. Remember, it’s a gravity feed. And we only want to use it for two weeks tops.”

“I imagine he’ll want it out ASAP,” Sam said. 

“One thing we might want to consider is the psychological implications he’s going to have,” Jim said as he hooked the bag of nutritional slush to the tube. “He might not be able eat properly right away. He will more than likely have some hesitations; he might remember what he ate before now. If he does, he may have a hard time with chewing and swallowing regular foods. The tube might a thing for a while.”

Sam looked at Alice, she could tell he was about to lose it. He wanted to hear that Dean would be alright, not hooked to a goddamn feeding that was hanging out of his face. She fought to keep the snarl off her face and gave Sam the nod to leave. She would stay and keep watch. 

Meanwhile, Garth and Bobby were just walking back into the kitchen; Sam could smell them before he could see them. He walked into the kitchen, his nose buried in the crook of his elbow. They were covered in the Wendigo goo. Garth looked ready to vomit, but he waited next to Bobby; until Sam stopped and sat at the table. Bobby reached over and set a small metal object in front of Sam. He sat for a minute staring at the dirty charm on the table. It was Dean’s necklace; the one Sam had given him years ago. Garth and Bobby each landed a gently pat on his shoulder before heading down the hallway arguing over who deserved to shower first. Sam sat quietly, tears running down his face, necklace in hand when he heard a loud knock the front door. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes as he swung the door open. 

“Dad,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”


	22. Crosshairs and Getaways

Sam stared at John, his face impassive. He considered briefly if John was there to kill Dean, but he shook that thought out of his head; he wouldn’t have knocked if that had been his plan. To polite, to human. 

“You going to let me in,” John asked with a crooked, disarming grin. His face was tired; he needed a shave and a haircut almost as badly as Sam did. 

Sam didn’t have a chance to answer before he was nearly yanked backwards off of his feet; Alice had pulled him away from the door and placed herself between them. 

“Sam, why don’t you go see if Jim needs some help, it’s nearly time for Dean’s next feed,” she said without looking at him. Her eyes bore into John’s figure, the anger on her face making him shift his feet and look away. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said quietly as he turned into the house. He cringed as the door slammed hard behind him. 

John gave Alice the same disarming smile; she didn’t return one as she pulled the rifle from her shoulder. John slowly raised his hands and took a step backwards. “So Alice,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were a redhead driving an old suburban. This look suits you better, I think.” 

Alice cocked the rifle and said, “Last time I saw you, you were driving like a bat out of hell to get away from here with something that means a lot to me. Did you bring it back?”

“How is Dean doing,” John asked as he took another step back. 

“Did you bring it back or not,” Alice asked, bringing the rifle to her eye, taking aim.

John signed and shook his head. “I mailed it,” he said. “I didn’t want to get pulled over with that in my possession. You know that.”

Alice placed her finger on the trigger, John kept slowly walking away from her, never taking his eyes off of her rifle. “Alice, you’re not going to shoot me,” he said. “I spoke with Abraham; I know your relationship with the community is dangling by a thread. A dead man will not improve your circumstances.”

“It would improve my attitude to bury you, John Winchester,” Alice ground out. She took a step towards him, just enough to bring her plan to fruition. He took one final step away from her; stepping right off the porch. Alice smiled as she heard the loud thud as he fell down the steps. 

“Alice,” John called out painfully from the ground where he had finally come to a landing. “You could have just shot me.” 

There was no response, only the sound of the front door being slammed shut. 

\---  
Meanwhile in the barn, Sam was astounded by the changes that had taken place in a few hours’ time. The stone walls had been cleaned; the stones looking shiny from the water Jim had been dousing them with. A round metal disc had been placed in the center of the room, filled with smoothed stones. A fire beneath the disc had burned out long ago, the coals still red hot. Jim slowly trickled water onto the stones, causing steam to rise from them. The air smelled of burned herbs. 

Sam turned, taking in the whole room. He hesitated when he saw Jim arranging ears of corn around the metal disc. 

“What’s with the corn,” he asked. 

“Maize is food, nourishment, life,” Jim explained. “Everything that a Wendigo is not. We have to tie the Wendigo spirit to the corn and then burn it. The Manitou will help.”

“How can you be so sure,” Sam asked. “This has never been done before, you said it yourself.”

“It’s not a matter of being sure,” Jim replied. “It’s a matter of having faith.”

As the two men walked back to the house, Sam asked, “How long before we can do it?”

“When Dean is ready, when the Wendigo is weak,” Jim said. “You will know.”

\---  
John sat on the steps, Bobby none to carefully prodding his cracked rib. John hissed in pain and pulled away from Bobby. “I knew she was going to be mad but I didn’t really think she would resort to bodily harm,” John complained. 

“You can count yourself lucky that Sam saw you, if there were no witnesses to your being here she might have pulled the trigger,” Bobby replied as he stood. “Why are you here, John?”

“I was worried about Dean,” John said with frown. “Looks like you are too.”

“Dean was missing for a little over two months, he’s been restrained in a panic room,” Bobby said. “Strange that you decide to become concerned now.”

John sighed with a tone of annoyance. He shook his head and glared up at Bobby. 

“What exactly are you worried I’m here to do,” John asked. “Kill my own son?”

Bobby pulled his hat off and gave John a long look. 

“Jesus---Bobby! You really think that I did, don’t you,” John exclaimed. “Christ!”

Bobby flopped the trucker hat back on his head and looked across the yard at the ever growing collection of vehicles in Alice’s yard. John’s black and rusted pickup truck was parked haphazardly at the gate, looking as though he had parked it for a quick getaway. 

“Alice and I discussed it, several times,” Bobby admitted. “The possibility that you would take the black and white version; he’s a Wendigo, something we—you—hunt. Personally, I’ve had a few worries about you just coming back here and stirring the pot with Alice. She’s been a real help to your boys and you have a way of really getting in the crosshairs of her rifle; if you get my drift.”

John nodded and asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can answer your phone when your son calls you, for starters,” Bobby said as he climbed the steps of the porch. “Find a place to stay, locally. If we need anything, we’ll call.”

Bobby reached the door and turned back towards John. “Don’t come back here until you get a phone call,” he said before he quietly closed the door on John. 

\---  
Sam watched as Jim stuffed another pillow behind a thrashing Dean. “You want to keep his head up, you don’t want him to aspirate on the stuff,” Jim explained as he stood back and checked Dean’s position. Once satisfied, he checked the feeding tube’s position and connected the bag of nutritional slush that would hopefully keep Dean’s body from further deteriorating. 

As Sam held the bag he glanced down at Dean. He noticed the green in his eyes was more pronounced, the dark eyes of the Wendigo beginning to fade. He glanced up as Garth walked into the panic room, two shirts in his hand. Garth dropped them next to the bed and moved down to Dean’s leg. Garth didn’t say anything as he ran a hand down Dean’s lower leg, stopping as he felt the calcified lump in the bone. 

“Um-Garth-what are you doing,” Sam asked. 

“Alice asked me to take a gander at his leg,” Garth replied as he continued to prod the lump. 

“Why,” Sam asked again. 

“She wants me to call a friend about it, I need to know how big the lump is, how far down the leg it is, what angle it’s broken at,” Garth replied casually. “Nothing to worry about.”

Jim asked, “You want to try to fix that before we try to remove the Wendigo? Use his increased healing ability?”

“Something like that,” Garth replied. “It sounds nice in theory, but opening up his leg in these kinds of conditions would be kind of rough, wouldn’t they?”

Jim looked at Sam and nodded. “The risk of infection would be incredible, you could risk the integrity of the leg,” Jim explained. “The bone would have to be surgically exposed, the bone re-broken and set and the calcifications would have to be filed or ground off. It’s not going to be pretty or pain free.”

“Sounds like a trip to the hospital,” Sam said with a grimace. He continued to look at Dean, his eyes flicking back and forth as everyone spoke. 

“Exactly,” Garth said. “Or at the least, an orthopedic same day out-patient surgery clinic; my friend opened one last year, I’m hoping he can help us out.”

“How long before we’ll know if the tranquilizers have done any permanent damage,” Sam asked. 

“Could be a while,” Jim explained. “Once the Wendigo is out, we’ll need to do some blood work. Check his kidney and liver functions. There’s an overnight lab that I can send some samples to, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam replied. “Thanks. Do you think Dean will remember what it was like to be a Wendigo?”

“The cannibalism, the hunger, the hunting,” Garth asked. “There’s a lot to choose from. Do you think he would be better off to remember?”

“Maybe,” Sam said with a stern look at Dean. “If he can remember the hunger, maybe it will help him to rationalize what he did. That he wasn’t really himself, he was possessed. I don’t know, maybe it would help him somehow.”

\---  
Dean didn’t understand the sounds falling around him. He did understand the body language in the room. The tall one was more dominant in the room, the alpha. But the small one was more hyper, talkative. If they were Dean’s nest mates, he would have bullied both of them into submission. He was by far more capable, more deadly. The other man though, his dark eyes bore into him. He felt the snarl build in his chest, felt his face begin to contort as he pulled his lips back to expose his sharp teeth. He felt the Wendigo’s need to stretch his arms, to run free, to feel the warmth of fresh blood drip down his throat. He felt a strong desire to kill that man, despite his calm quietness he was a threat. 

Sam watched as Dean turned his head towards Jim, his head lifting from the pillows, his teeth gnashing. He continued to watch as Dean suddenly lunged against the restraints, snarling at Jim. Garth and Jim jumped and looked at Dean, and then up at Sam. 

Dean fought the restraints with more force, trying to pull his hands through the padded leather straps with incredible strength. Sam motioned to Garth and Jim, pointing them to the door behind him. They watched Dean’s back arch off the cot, his snarling turning into an ear piercing howl. Jim and Garth got to the door just as Alice and Bobby clamored into the room, rifles in hand. 

“What the blazes set him off,” Bobby yelled out over the screeches. 

“I don’t know,” Sam yelled back across the room. “He was just lying there and he suddenly started at Jim.”

They watched as Dean continued to fight the straps, arching and pulling, turning his body in ways that Sam knew would be painful for a regular human. They all froze as a loud-POP-was heard throughout the room. Dean let out a blood curdling howl, his breath coming out in short pants. 

“Alice, help me,” Bobby cried out. “He’s dislocated his own shoulder.” 

They slowly approached Dean, reaching out and testing the restraints before Bobby felt the contorted shoulder. “Balls! It’s all messed up. I don’t know if I can pull it back in place with untying his arm,” Bobby explained to Alice. “I need to be able to pull it out.”

Jim leapt towards the IV pump and increased the flow, finally settling on squeezing the bag to deliver more of the tranquilizer. They watched as Dean’s eyes moved to Jim, his face moving from pain to hatred. His movements began to redirect towards Jim, although within seconds his movements were more uncoordinated and slow. They watched as his eyes rolled back into his head. Everyone sighed and relaxed. 

“Jim, you and Sam go upstairs,” Bobby said. “Garth, get that rifle and spot Alice and me. I’ll try to get his arm back in place.”

Sam and Jim didn’t say anything as they slowly climbed the stairs away from the panic room. They filed down the hallway and sat in the kitchen. Waiting was always the worst part of being a hunter. Monster or not, resetting a joint was a painful thing. 

It was thirty minutes before they emerged from the panic room, all looking tired and worse for wear. Sam wasn’t surprised when Bobby got a handful of glasses from the cabinet as Alice pulled the bottle from another drawer. 

“Tequila,” Sam said, surprised when he saw the bottle. 

“Well, your whiskey lessons with Dean have whittled down my supply,” Alice said with a wink. “And speaking of supplies, we need some.”

“Want me to go and pick up a few things,” Sam asked. 

“If you‘ll drop the list off down at the little general store, we can pick up everything in the morning,” Alice said with a shrug. “I rarely stay to do my shopping.”

“Why,” Jim asked. 

“Well, if you must know, I don’t have a great relationship with the community here. They tolerate me, I’ve helped them several times with supernatural type problems. But they don’t like me to hang out where I might have any real interaction with the women or children,” Alice explained. “Like I’m diseased.”

“Hilty,” Sam said. “You’re Amish, or from an Amish family. Right?”

“Yep,” Alice said. “Both. My husband helped to found this community about a hundred years ago. We were fairly young then, newlyweds. They tolerate me for that reason, I’m sure. Either way, time for everyone to get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“What are we doing tomorrow,” Garth asked. 

“You’ll see,” Alice said as walked out of the room.


	23. Tea and Drugs, the Countdown Begins

The next morning came too early for the weary group. The tranquilizers had worn off around midnight, leaving Dean once again to bang his restraints and howl. Alice had finally stormed down to the panic room at four o’clock and given the IV bag another crushing squeeze, pumping in another large dose of the silence inducing cocktail. By nine o’clock, everyone had wandered out to the kitchen, the smell of coffee pulling them from their beds. 

“Your snoring is almost as bad as Dean’s howling,” Sam mumbled to Garth with a yawn.

Garth continued to smile into his bowl of cereal and shrugged. “You could try to switch with Jim maybe,” Garth replied. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Jim stated firmly as he slid into a chair across from Bobby. “I can hear you from two doors down.”

“Well, you’re lucky I even have two guest rooms, much less room for four beds,” Alice added as she set her own bowl down. “There was a time I would have just made you all sleep in the barn. I’ve progressed.”

Bobby grunted and nodded towards Garth. “Maybe we can just move his bed out to the barn,” he said. “Or there’s always the other panic room.”

“Oh come on guys,” Garth said seriously, setting down his cereal bowl. “It’s not that bad. Is it?”

“We could try breaking his nose,” Jim suggested. “You know, deviate his septum.”

“Hey! It’s not that bad,” Garth said with a pout. “Alice, what are we doing today?”

“I need someone to drop off our materials list, and someone else to drive into another county and pick up a few things,” Alice said as a faint howl began to rise from the cellar. 

“He’s awake, time to feed him,” Jim said. 

“Alice, what do you need from another county,” Bobby asked curiously. 

“This is a dry county and we’re out of whiskey and only have half of a bottle of tequila left,” Alice stated. “Considering all the excitement around here, I don’t really want to run out at any point. And speaking of excitement, anyone want to hazard a guess why Dean flipped out at Jim last night?”

Garth and Sam looked at each other and shook their heads. Bobby got up to pour himself another cup of coffee and said, “I have a few theories about that. Not much sleeping going on last night anyhow. I figure that maybe Dean-or the Wendigo-has realized Jim’s purpose; his ability to call on the Manitou. And then there’s the fact that he spent yesterday in the barn burning herbs, he reeked of sage and wheatgrass. I’d bet a bottle of Jack that Dean feels threatened by Jim.”

“And your other theory,” Alice asked. 

“That Dean doesn’t much care for the tube that’s been shoved down his nose and throat. Jim not only put it in, but has to fiddle with it every time we feed him. That would get my hackles up,” Bobby said. “I’d feel better if Jim stayed out of the panic room unless it’s absolutely necessary and only if we’re going to be hyper vigilant about protecting him. If Dean kills Jim, there goes our chance to save Dean.”

Sam slowly nodded into his bowl of cornflakes. Jim looked around the table and said, “Alright. If you think that’s the way to go, we’ll do it that way. Sam, you’ve seen me check the feeding tube placement a few times. Do you feel comfortable doing it by yourself?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam said tiredly. “How are we going to divide up the chores for today?”

“You boys can figure it out, I have my own errand to run today,” Alice said as she headed for the front door. They watched silently as she slung her rifle over her shoulder and stalked out the front door. The rumble of her truck was faint as she slowly drove away from the house. 

“Garth, Jim, you can do the out of county run,” Bobby said. “Sam, you pick up the supplies at the local store. I’ll stay here and keep an ear out for Dean. I need to clean and re-oil the guns anyhow and make some calls about the salvage yard.”

The young men rose from the table and broke off to get ready for their assigned jobs. After another grueling feeding with Dean, Sam and Garth climbed the stairs back out the cellar. “Did I hear that your dad was in town,” Garth asked.

“Um-yeah,” Sam said, caught off guard. 

“That’s cool,” Garth said. “He here to help with Dean?”

“I’m not really sure, we only got to talk for a minute,” Sam explained. “I think he and Alice have some unpleasant history, he’s not really welcome here turns out. Although I don’t doubt he deserves it.”

“You think they had a thing,” Garth asked, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “Maybe a romantic tryst while hunting?”

Sam barked out a laugh and said, “No, I don’t think so. Seems like my dad may have taken something from her and she really wants it back.”

“Yeah, like her broken heart,” Garth said as he motioned for Jim to follow him out the front door. 

Sam watched as they drove away, before heading right to Bobby. He was sitting in the kitchen, journal open in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. Sam pulled out the chair in front of him and slid into the chair slowly, sighing as he did. Bobby didn’t bother to look up as he continued to thumb through his journal. “Need something Sam,” he asked. He hated Sam’s angsty moods, he knew the younger brother was the more ‘feely’ of the Winchesters but he didn’t understand why Sam always seemed to come to him. 

“What’s the deal between Alice and my dad,” Sam asked impatiently, the words tumbling out quickly.

Bobby glanced up at Sam, the young man looked as tired as Bobby felt. “Not my field of expertise son,” he said. “I’d leave it alone though.”

“Did my dad have a fling with her,” Sam asked. 

“Are you an idjit,” Bobby said with disbelief. “Alice may not be…cuddly and certainly your daddy isn’t; but I can’t imagine that being a likely problem for either one of them. Christ-Sam-think about these things before you say them. Your dad almost killed her years ago, only to start a strange situation where he occasionally dropped you boys off with her. I don’t doubt he trusted her, deeply at one time. And she must have forgiven him for nearly killing her; she never took a chance at retribution. She kept you boys safe, in school when she could, and even patched your dad up a few times.”

“So why the mutual hatred,” Sam asked with a yawn. 

“What makes you think it’s mutual,” Bobby asked. “Only one of them brought a gun to their reunion.”

Sam nodded as mulled over Bobby’s words. “I’ll go drop off the supplies list and then pick a few things,” Bobby said. “You get some sleep. Stay out of the panic room until I get back.”

Sam ran a hand over his tired face and nodded his consent. “Wake me when you get back,” he said as he got up from the table and headed for his room. 

Bobby waited until he heard slight snores coming from Sam’s quilt wrapped figure before grabbing the list off the table and heading for his own car. As he drove past small farms and passed a few Amish buggies and wagons, he continued to wonder why Alice would stay in a community where everyone feared her. He knew from his own research of her existence that she would reinvent herself every few years, always keeping the same last name and using variations of her first name. He shook his head to himself as he pulled up to the small wooden general store; if they had everything they needed he would be amazed. The store was dimly lit, mostly by the large glass windows that spanned the length of the store. He noticed how the store became quiet as he walked to the large wooden counter that separated him from barrels of dry goods and brightly colored spools of ribbon and thread. The bearded man behind the counter didn’t smile as Bobby slid the list across the counter to him. The man picked it up and glanced over it. “Come back in about three hours,” he said as he turned away from Bobby. 

“A young man named Sam will be back to pick up Alice’s order,” Bobby said. They didn’t say anything else as Bobby turned and left the small store. 

Meanwhile, twenty miles away, Garth and Jim were trying to cram one box to many into the back of Garth’s car. “I’ve never even had this car packed so tightly,” he admitted as he shifted another duffel bag trying to find room for one more crate of Irish whiskey. “I guess you can hold this box on the way back.”

“Well, we’re not returning it for sure,” Jim said with a smirk. “We’re going to need to make one more stop. My uncle called in few more meds for me; we need to pick them up.”

“What do we need,” Garth asked. “I thought we had everything we needed for Dean.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking about that. Aside from changing his metabolism, the Wendigo has altered his immune system. Otherwise he would have died from the exposure in the forest and that broken leg. I’m starting to wonder what kind of infections he’s going to contend with once the Wendigo is gone. He’s been restrained in a near flat position in a panic room, with little to no air movement. I’m thinking pneumonia might be a problem for one. And who knows how he’ll handle the psychological problems that he’s going to have,” Jim explained as they pulled back out onto the highway. “We’re picking up the antibiotics as well as some IV hydration.”

“Why the hydration,” Garth asked, confused. 

“Once the Wendigo is gone, Dean will be left in his current condition without the Wendigo’s strength. He may be to weak to eat or drink, but I can’t imagine he’ll want to leave the nasogastric tube in,” Jim said. 

Garth nodded in understanding and said, “What about his leg? You think the old break is going to still hurt? He hasn’t put any real weight on it in the week he’s been in the panic room.”

“He’ll probably have some arthritic type pain,” Jim agreed. “What did your surgeon friend say?”

“He thinks he can help, but he wants to wait until the Wendigo is gone and Dean is strong enough to handle to surgery on his own,” Garth said. “Something about anesthesia and his compromised condition.”

“Sounds about right,” Jim said. “Some physical therapy after that and he’ll be as good as new.”

“I hope so,” Garth said. “I’ve been looking forward to a chance to hunt with him.”

Miles away at the Boyd Gap overlook, Alice was sitting on the tailgate of her truck, overlooking the large canyon. She didn’t turn as she heard a truck approaching in the narrow parking lot. She heard a door slam and within minutes John was carefully lowering himself onto the other end of the tailgate. 

“This were you found him,” John asked. 

“No,” Alice said as she shook her head. “I did traipse around this canyon for a long while though, looking for him. I found him farther back in the park, out away from the trails.”

“How did you know he was missing,” John asked curiously. 

“When I saw them in the park, at the ranger station I realized who was working the job. I had already taken out Rebecca Hadley. I was instantly terrified Dean would recognize me, but amazingly enough Sam was the one I caught looking,” Alice admitted. “I didn’t think there would be any way for him to remember me, he doesn’t seem to remember any of the times they stayed here with me.”

“I’m sure Dean remembers,” John said as he gazed out over the canyon, wondering how his son survived in those conditions. The wind whipped around them, causing him to pull his jacket tighter. There would be snow soon. “He was glued to Sammy after that time you had to take him to the emergency room.”

Alice drew in a deep breath and said, “I got the package this morning in the mail. Thank you for returning it.”

John glanced at her face before shrugging and turning back towards the canyon. “It’s yours,” he said. “I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”

“I tried everything to find it, scrying with water and crystal, even maps and a talking board, but it was like you hid it on the moon,” Alice said. 

“A hex box,” John admitted. “I put it in a hex box. I just thought maybe if it was in a hex box it wouldn’t have any effect on you. I did some research on my own and read through Bobby’s notes from when he researched you.”

Alice tensed and turned towards him, “So when you stole it, during the middle of the night, and refused to return any calls for the last eight years, you were just what? Doing me some favor?”

“I thought I was,” John said harshly. “I found a similar case in Alaska, turned out the proximity to the cursed object had no effect on the transformation.”

“Yeah, I could have told you that,” Alice said angrily. 

“What name do you call it,” John asked. “The curse or whatever it is you’re going through.”

“The technical name is phoenix, John,” Alice said with a tone of annoyance. “I get only so old and then-one day I’ll just ignite. I can feel the heat, the flames; they hurt somewhat. Then I’ll be a young woman again, for a long, long time until it happens again. When it happens, I’ll reinvent myself and wait a few years before I go back home and decide what to do next.”

“When was the last one,” John demanded. 

“What’s the problem, John,” Alice asked icily. “If you have some problem with me, you could have killed me a decade or two ago, and not used me like a babysitter and medic.”

“I just want to know if you’re going to ignite while my boys are under your roof,” John said tensely. “I think as their father I can worry about that.”

Alice slid off the tailgate and zipped her jacket up. “Don’t worry John. When it comes to exposing your boys to the dark side of the monster world, I’ll leave that to you. You’ve done a good job of it up ‘til now,” Alice said angrily. “Get off my truck.”

John grabbed her arm and looked her in the eye. “So you’ll wait until they leave,” John demanded. 

Alice pulled her arm free and walked to the truck cab. “Unlike some monsters around here, I don’t get a choice about when it happens. But Bobby is there and my other panic room is ready, they’ll be fine,” Alice said coolly. “Are you even worried about Dean?”

John glared at her and said, “Of course I am! But Bobby told me that your group has a plan. I might not like what you are, but I do trust you and Bobby to do what is right for Dean.”

Alice yanked open the truck door and paused, “Do you want to see him? Like he is, now?”

John turned and walked back to his truck, without a word. Alice watched him drive away. She slid into the cold truck cab and glanced down at the package on the seat. She sighed deeply and cranked the engine. She could almost feel the fire under her skin, burning warm in the cool air. She stomped on the gas and headed back home, back to where she knew she was safe. 

An hour north, Sam was waiting patiently in the small general store on the outskirts of the Amish community. He knew from Bobby to not be expecting any real conversations from the locals, they knew that Sam was part of the odd group that Alice had brought into their local community. Sam knew from some light reading that most communities didn’t tolerate strangers, making him all the more curious how Alice managed to be accepted at all considered her own mysterious identity. Sam watched as the shop owner set a large box on the counter next to the first one. Sam could see flour, coffee, and some other staple items. What surprised him was the large cloth bag the man set on top. A familiar smell wafted up to Sam, he tentatively picked up the bag and smelled it. 

“Tea,” the man said sternly. 

“Excuse me,” Sam said apologetically. 

“That bag, its tea leaves and a few other herbs. I thought Alice might be ready for it,” the man said as he shoved the boxes towards Sam. 

“That’s a lot of tea,” Sam commented. The bag must have weighed nearly ten pounds. 

The man said nothing as Sam hefted the boxes from the counter and walked out of the store. Sam was nearly to the front door of Alice’s house when he heard the howling; Sam couldn’t help but sigh deeply and fortify himself for him next feeding with Dean. He knew that the feeding tube was helping Dean, but no matter how much they fed him, he was continuing to waste away. His skin looked worse than ever, pulled tightly over his bones while his hair continued to fall out in clumps. 

Sam set the boxes on the table next to the ones that Jim and Garth had picked up. He picked up the telltale white pharmacy bags and curiously looked through them. Antibiotics both oral and liquid, mixed bags of IV hydration, pre-loaded syringes of adrenaline, and pain medications. He set them down on the table just as Jim and Garth walked in. 

“What’s with the home pharmacy,” Sam asked, he felt leery of pumping any more drugs into his deteriorating brother. He didn’t know how much more either one of them could take. 

Jim dug through the bags and handed Sam one of the bottles. “This one is for you, actually,” Jim said quietly. 

Sam turned the pill bottle over in his hand, sleeping pills. “Seriously,” Sam asked. “It’s not like anyone is getting any sleep around here.”

“You’re looking a little worse for wear actually,” Jim explained. “And of all of us, you’re going through the most stress. If you’re not careful about getting some real rest, you’ll start to get sick. We need you ready for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow,” Sam asked. 

“Tomorrow, we move Dean to the sweat lodge in the barn. It’s time,” Jim said apologetically. 

“But-how do we know he’s ready,” Sam asked, his voice rising slightly. “He’s—“

“He’s getting worse Sam,” Bobby interjected as he stepped into the kitchen. “While you were at the store, he dislocated his wrist. He’s getting more and more desperate to get loose. The Wendigo is hungry and weakening, but so is Dean. We wait too long and we won’t have much to bring back. It’s a gamble, but it’s time to give it a go.”

Sam shook his head and stalked down the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs,” he called. He heard footsteps behind him, Bobby.

Sam ignored Bobby standing inside the doorway and began to administer Dean’s next feeding. He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around Dean’s sunken eyes. The green spark was fainter than it had been that morning. Sam gazed at Dean’s warped and shriveled frame. His forever hungry mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. His snarls even seemed weaker. 

“What if we can’t get him back,” Sam asked as he felt his eyes tear up. “What if the Wendigo wins?”

“We’ll get him back,” Bobby said. “Don’t you worry.”

An hour later, Sam trudged back upstairs. Bobby trailed behind, seeing a light on in the other panic room. He pushed the door open and gazed inside. The room was empty except a large claw foot tub in the center of the room. He stepped closer and saw it was full of dark water. He took another step and saw a slight ripple in the water. He nearly jumped out of his skin as Alice suddenly sat up in the water, her dark hair braided tightly to her head. She wiped the water out of her eyes and pulled her arms around her. 

“Bobby,” she said tensely. “What are you doing in here?”

“I saw the light on, I thought maybe you were getting this panic room ready for tomorrow,” Bobby explained, his voice pitching slightly higher. “What the hell are you doing?”

Alice shook her head angrily and said, “I’m soaking. I thought that would have been obvious.”

“In what exactly,” Bobby asked hesitantly. 

“In tea,” Alice said angrily. “Turn around.”

Bobby spun around and gave her privacy. He heard fabric being rustled and asked, “Why tea?”

Alice walked into his range of vision, her towel making him only more uncomfortable. “I’m burning up Bobby,” Alice admitted. “The tea and herbs help cool me down.”

“Wait just one minute,” Bobby said, making her pause in her attempt to leave the room. “You mean to tell me, we’re about to attempt to bring back Dean and you’re going into phoenix mode? Now?!”

“Jesus, Bobby! I don’t exactly get a say so about it,” Alice snarled. “This is not my fault!”

Bobby gingerly held a hand out, when Alice didn’t shy away, he gently touched her forehead. “You’re burning up Alice,” Bobby said. “How long before you’re full on cooking?”

“I’ll spend the night in the tub, keep the guys upstairs. I don’t think it’ll happen right away, maybe a few days from now if we’re lucky. The tea and herbs always slow it down a bit,” Alice said as she looked at the floor. “I’m sorry about this Bobby.”

“It’s alright,” Bobby said with an overwhelmed look on his face. “We’ll manage. I was there for that one in Arizona, remember? I know what to do.”

“I sure hope so,” Alice admitted. “I guess it’s a good thing I have two panic rooms, huh?”


	24. Manitou or Bust

Sam woke to the harsh silence that had fallen over the house during the night. He tossed and turned, wondering why Dean was being so quiet when he had been so relentless over the past few days. He finally swung his feet out of the bed and onto the cold floor. He shivered as he pulled his hoodie over his head, he would be surprised if there wasn’t snow on the ground outside. He didn’t get two steps towards the door before he heard Garth in the other bed. 

“Where you headed Sam? It’s four in the morning,” Garth asked blearily. 

“Dean hasn’t made a peep. I want to check on him,” Sam whispered. 

He watched as Garth slowly slid out of bed and wrapped his quilt around himself. “I’ll come with you,” Garth said tiredly. “In case he’s just playing possum.”

“Alright, thanks man,” Sam said with a smile. 

They quietly walked down the hallway and down the creaky steps to the panic rooms. The single light bulb that swung in the narrow hallway made it even more uninviting and cold that it was in the daytime. A small light burned in the room where Dean lay, illuminating Alice’s silhouette. Sam and Garth were nearly as surprised as Alice was, she set down the book she had been reading and raised an eyebrow. 

Sam noticed that Alice’s hair was wet and she was dressed more for a day at the beach than a freezing cold night in the mountains. She wasn’t even shivering in the cold air, although Sam and Garth’s teeth were chattering. Sam noticed that Alice had draped several quilts onto Dean; he looked even sicklier in the pale light from the lantern Alice had been using. 

“I thought he might be cold,” Alice said, offering an excuse for her presence in the room. “He’s been really quiet for the last few hours. I think tomorrow is a good choice, he’s fading away.”

Sam didn’t say anything as Alice gathered up her book and walked out of the room, waiting for them to follow her. “You two need to get back to bed, we have a big day ahead of us,” Alice said. She touched Sam’s arm as he walked by, her hand unmistakably warm. “Do you want to call John?”

Sam shook his head, “I don’t know. I know that he should be there for Dean, but a big part of me doesn’t want him there. I’m still angry at him; he should have been here weeks ago.”

“It’s up to you,” Alice said. “I promise not to shoot him, unless you say it’s okay.”

Sam laughed tiredly and nodded in approval. “Agreed. Are you okay, Alice? You feel fevered.”

“I’m fine,” Alice lied. “See you in the morning.” 

“Aren’t you coming up,” Sam asked. 

“With Garth’s snoring, I’d rather sleep in the other panic room. I’ll keep an ear out for Dean, get some sleep,” Alice said. 

It was eight o’clock when Bobby wandered down to start Dean’s feeding. He knocked lightly on the other panic room’s door, knowing Alice was inside. The door swung open, Alice standing there, fully clothed but her hair still wet from her long night soak. 

“You going to be okay today,” Bobby asked as he looked at her rosy, fevered cheeks. “We can manage without you.”

“Not a chance in hell Bobby,” Alice said. “I’ve spent lifetimes watching the Wendigo, we’re about to pull one out of a hunter, I’ll be there. Besides, you’ll need everyone to get him into the barn.”

They walked into the panic room, seeing Dean’s still form. He didn’t even bother to turn his head as they stood on either side of him. 

“You think we’ll need to sedate him for this trip,” Bobby asked. “In his condition, and with what we’re about to put him through, you think his heart will hold out?”

“I certainly hope so, but since we all know hope is rarely enough; Jim got his hands on some adrenaline,” Alice said. “If his heart stops, we’ll just bring him back.”

“And if we fail,” Bobby asked. 

“We won’t,” was all he heard as Alice headed back upstairs. 

It was noon when the Sam, Bobby, Garth, and Alice filed into the panic room. Jim was waiting the barn, wanting to make sure everything was in place. Bobby and Sam gripped Dean’s upper arms, pulling him into a sitting position while Alice and Garth slowly undid the restraints. Dean’s eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow. Sam pushed one of his eyelids up, but Dean’s eyes just rolled aimlessly unable to focus on anything. 

“How much of the sedative did you give him,” Sam asked quietly, his voice laced with concern. 

“None, actually,” Bobby said. “His liver must be shutting down; he’s not breaking down the drugs anymore. His system is full of junk he can’t metabolize.”

They reluctantly released him from the bed, carefully using the cloth restraints to tie his hands together. His feet followed, until he was trussed up like the wild animal he was harboring deep inside. Sam carefully picked his brother up, he was amazed at low light Dean was. Dean had never been heavy, but his muscle was entirely gone at this point, cannibalized weeks ago by the Wendigo’s hunger. He was a bag of bones, barely breathing at that. 

Sam blinked the tears out his eyes and headed for the door. Bobby and Alice trailed behind, each with a tranquilizer gun although they both knew it was pointless; Dean was to near death to have any real fight left in him. Garth walked ahead of Sam, helping to maneuver Dean through the doorways. 

Although Alice had pulled one of the pickup trucks up to the porch, Sam carried Dean across the fields to the old barn, not wanting to put him down, not yet ready to give up his hold on his brother. The others followed behind, silent. Bobby shivered as the procession reminded him of a funeral march. The only thing missing was the awful music. 

Jim opened the door to the room he had spent hours converting into the necessary sweat lodge. As they stepped into the room, each one began to sweat from the dry heat that permeated the room. It was unbearable for Alice, the heat making the fire beneath her skin burn brighter. Jim motioned for Sam to lay Dean down on the cot Garth had carried to the barn. Sam reluctantly lay Dean down, his head rolling to the side, his eyes opening and slowly taking in his new surroundings. 

“I know he’s weak, Sam, but we have to restrain him,” Jim said quietly to Sam. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know we can’t risk it,” Sam said reluctantly. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

Bobby watched as they began to the task of restraining Dean to the cot, concerned how Dean’s eyes seemed to be tracking Jim’s movements. He didn’t relax when they were finished, gripping his tranquilizer gun tighter. 

Jim turned to them and said, “I don’t know how long it will take for the Manitou to do their thing. There’s not really a how-to-video on this, just some old notes from my grandfather.”

Bobby shrugged and said, “As long as they show up. Do your thing.”

Jim, somewhat self-conscience of everyone watching him, took a deep breath and laid four small bundles of the herbs in the coals, each one carefully placed using a compass to mark the North, South, East, and West. As they began to burn and their smoke filled the room, everyone was aware of the irritation it caused Dean. While everyone else felt the herbs relaxing them, Dean began to pull weakly at his restraints, his wrists and ankles already bruised and chafed. 

Jim hesitated, noticing that Sam was looking pitifully at Dean. Bobby caught his eye and nodded his head, encouraging him to continue. Jim felt the adrenaline syringe in his pocket for assurance, closed his eyes briefly, and set back to the task. He used a gourd to pour water onto the already hot river rocks in the metal disc he had secured over the coals. The water hissed and steamed as it hit the rocks, the walls already dark from the moisture leaching out of them. Jim held three ears of corn in the rising stream, and began to chant. 

Bobby faintly recognized a few words, a prayer to the Manitou in Jim’s nearly forgotten native tongue. He made a mental note to add Jim to his contact list, he would come in handy. Jim repeated the process, the steam building in the room until it was hard to breath, the smell of earth and herbs filled their lungs. 

It went on for hours, until the coals burned down and the room was plunged into near darkness. Jim continued to bath the corn in the steam, before moving to Dean. Jim muttered what sounded like a heartfelt apology and pulled a sharpened stone his pocket, quickly making three long cuts into Dean’s chest. Before anyone could do or say anything he placed an ear of corn onto each cut. His skin burned bright red as the singed corn burned into him, he whimpered once more before falling silent. 

They sat around Dean in silence, each wondering if it would work. Sam, who hadn’t slept much the night before, was beginning to drift off in the warm air when Bobby nudging his knee. They watched in silence as steam began to rise from the stone walls, gathering into columns that nearly reached the ceiling. Sam was speechless as the steam continued to move, forming three figures. Each one, a Native American warrior, scanned the room, turning their heads this was and that before moving towards Dean. 

The misty figures gathered around Dean, his eyes opened slowly and a faint sneer graced his face. He bared his teeth at the figures and howled; the sound was reminiscent of the more developed Wendigos they had hunted down in the forest. Sam shivered as he watched Dean’s eyes turn dark, the green spark all but gone. As the figures kneeled over him, their ghostly hands seemed to hover over his chest, the heat from the corn radiating from his skin. 

Dean’s screeching continued to escalate as he tried to pull away from the ghostly figures. Jim continued to chant the prayer, asking the Manitou to remove the Wendigo. His voice carried to the edges of the room and seemed to echo off the walls; the words flowing over themselves. The Manitou seemed oblivious to the others in the room, paying no attention to them. Sam bit back a cry as the Manitou plunged into Dean, his fragile form beginning to convulse. 

Jim motioned for Sam to stay put, he sidled up to Dean and looked into his eyes, each wide open and staring at the ceiling, pure terror and pain the only thing Jim could see in them. As Dean continued to arch against the restraints, his breathing deteriorated into short, quick bursts. They watched helplessly as his face contorted painfully, a loud anguished yell bursting from his lips. Sam felt himself overwhelmed with fear and hope, that yell was the first human sound that Dean had made in weeks, months maybe. 

After what seemed like hours of Dean whimpering, howling, and yelling, the Manitou rose from Dean’s chest, like wraiths they hovered over his broken body before they reached back into Dean’s chest, their ghostly faces impassive to the pain they were causing. He continued to scream and pull away. Just as Sam was sure Dean couldn’t take anymore, Dean fell against the cot, his head rolling aimlessly to one side, his eyes frozen open. Sam couldn’t move as the Manitou turned and walked back into the stone wall, a faint outline of them remained in the dampness that clung to the stones. 

Sam sprung towards Dean, before Bobby pulled him back. Bobby whispered into his ear, “Jim’s not done. Wait.”

Sam swallowed his fear and watched as the corn on Dean’s chest turned black and diseased. As it did, they all watched in utter amazement as the Wendigo features began to fade slightly. Jim removed the corn from Dean’s chest, each ear of corn now rotten. Jim carefully and quickly laid them into the fire and watched as they began to burn. 

“Get the door open! We need some air in here,” Jim barked out suddenly, making Sam jump. “Garth, grab my kit from outside, someone cut his restraints loose.”

As Garth wretched the door open, flooding the room with light and cold air, Jim tried to find Dean’s pulse. He refused to look at Sam, the more he tried to find a pulse the move obvious it was that none existed. 

“His heart has stopped,” Jim said, the sound cutting the room like a knife.


	25. Pulpy Fiction with a Side of Sausage

Bobby clung onto Sam’s shoulders, doing his best to keep Sam from getting in Jim’s way. Sam continued to pull away from him, desperate to get to Dean.

“No! Dean! Dean,” Sam cried out hysterically as tears streamed down his face. 

Jim ignored Sam’s pleas and pulled the syringe out his pocket. As Garth quickly wiped rubbing alcohol over Dean’s chest, Jim looked at each of the people in the room. Time stood still as he observed Sam’s hysterical bawling, Bobby’s anguished face and the tears at the edge of his eyes as he tried to keep Sam from getting in the way, Garth’s determination and steady hands as he tried to help Jim, Alice’s fevered face as she rubbed sweat out her eyes and jumped to help Bobby hold Sam. Jim looked down at Dean’s limp form, wondering if Dean’s body could even function if they brought him back. 

He felt for the breastplate that protected Dean’s heart. He pulled the cap off of the syringe and took a deep breath, refusing to look at anything else going on in the room. He needed to focus and the commotion wasn’t working. 

“Garth, move back,” he said. “Everyone shut up-NOW!”

Jim took another deep breath and slowly exhaled as he forcefully pushed the needle through the breast plate, when the needle was deep in his chest, Jim depressed the plunger. He didn’t even have a chance to pull the needle out before Dean’s eyes were open; rolling around panicked and wild. He jackknifed on the cot, his breathing deep and harsh.

Jim moved towards him, the movement startling Dean and causing him to roll off the cot and onto shaking hands and knees. Jim lurched to steady him, Sam leaping to help causing Bobby to lose his balance. Dean’s breathing was fast paced and he slowly tried to look up at those holding him. 

“Sam, help me hold him steady, I have to pull the needle out,” Jim said slowly and calmly. The last thing they needed was Dean freaking out and hurting himself any further. “Let’s try to ease him into a sitting position.”

Sam nodded his understanding, his head still reeling from losing Dean. They gripped Dean under his arms and helped him to ease back; he seemed unaware of what was going on, swatting their hands weakly. 

“Dean, we’re trying to help you,” Sam said. “We’ve got you, your safe. Don’t fight us.”

Jim slowly gripped the syringe and pulled it out of Dean’s chest, before handing it to Garth to recap. Bobby stood from the floor, obviously stiff from the length of time the ordeal had taken. 

“That wasn’t adrenaline, was it,” Bobby asked knowingly.

Jim shook his head and said with a near hysterical chuckle, “Atropine and epinephrine. One milligram of each, straight to the heart. Worked like a charm.” 

Bobby moved to help, seeing Jim’s hands shaking from his own adrenaline rush. “Let’s get him inside,” Bobby said. “Sam, let’s get him wrapped up in a quilt, it’s freezing outside.”

Dean continued to fight them weakly, while Sam spoke slowly and softly, explaining everything they were doing. 

“We’ll need to check him over once he’s back in the house, see what condition he’s in now that the Wendigo is gone,” Bobby stated firmly. “Jim, you going to be up for that?”

“Sure thing,” Jim mumbled from where he had slid down to the floor, in a heap of exhaustion. “Garth, just drag me back to the house.”

“Come on now, princess,” Bobby called out as Sam carried Dean out of the room. “You can sleep for a whole month once this is done.”

“Deal,” Jim called back as he pulled himself from the dirt floor. 

It had indeed turned colder while they had waited for the Manitou, snow flurries drifting down as they quickly moved back to the warm house. Dean shivered and burrowed deeper into the quilts he had been wrapped in. Sam held him tighter and picked up the pace. 

Sam paused when he got into the house, wondering suddenly who to toss from one of the already taken beds in the house. Alice waved for Sam to follow her. “He’s taking my room; it’s the biggest and has the best lighting for Jim to work with. Also has a bathroom attached with a fairly decent sized tub, you might be able to wrestling him in for bath later,” Alice explained. 

“Alice, what about you? Where are you going to sleep,” Sam asked. 

“The other panic room,” Alice said with a shrug. She didn’t bother to explain she had been sleeping down there nearly a week already, ever since she felt the familiar burn under her skin. 

“Thanks,” Sam said. 

As Sam deposited Dean onto the bed, Jim walked into the room slightly unsteady on his feet. Garth walked behind him, carrying the bag of medical equipment Jim had tossed together. 

“I’ll need some help,” Jim said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can hardly see straight.”

“You alright, son? You’re looking alittle puny,” Bobby said, concerned. 

“Yeah,” Jim muttered. “Just exhausted from the ceremony and everything. My grandfather made a few notes about the aftereffects of that kind of ceremony, he wasn’t kidding.”

“Can anyone here do stitches,” Jim asked as he held out his still shaking hands. 

“Son, you’re in luck,” Bobby said with a laugh. “Everyone here, including Dean, can do stitches.”

“Alright,” Jim said with a tired smile. “I’ll just tell you guys the immediate stuff. I need some sleep. Stitch and dress the cuts on his chest, be careful of the burns as well. I’d say try to get him cleaned up, if nothing more than for comfort sake. See if he’ll swallow any water, if he won’t we’ll have to put in a hydration line.”

“What about the feeding tube,” Sam asked. “When can you take it out?”

 

“When we know he doesn’t need it,” Jim said with a yawn. “Bobby, take a listen to his lungs. I’d be worried about pneumonia.”

“That it,” Bobby asked as Garth handed him the antiseptic. 

“For now,” Jim said. “Wake me up if anything weird happens.”

“Weird? Like what,” Alice asked. 

“Nightmares for one, hallucinations or hysteria,” Jim explained as he headed for the door. “He might not be himself for a while; you have to remember that he’s been essentially a wild animal for months. We need to make sure we didn’t just bring Cujo in from the cold. Someone needs to keep an eye on him at all times until we know for sure he’s…stable.”

The group watched as Jim wobbled down the hallway and into his room. Bobby shook his head, as though to dislodge Jim’s words. “Sam, you talk to him. Garth, you ever put in stitches,” Bobby asked. 

“A few times,” Garth said with a shrug. 

“Then you can help me,” Bobby said. It was a long drawn out process, starting with everyone crowding around the bathroom sink to scrub up. Sam held one of Dean’s hands and quietly explained what they were going to do while Garth laid out the materials for Bobby. 

Bobby sighed as he picked up the needle and nylon thread. He couldn’t remember how many stitches he had put in the Winchester boys, more than he wanted to know about for sure. He watched as Garth tried to clean the wounds out with antiseptic spray foam, he made a mental note to send a thank you note to Jim’s uncle. Once Garth moved out of the way, Bobby began the task of sewing Dean back together; pinching the skin together, pushing the needle through to the other side, pulling the thread through, tying off and clipping the thread off and then starting over again. It was a long silent task. 

Halfway through, Alice walked out of the room silently. Bobby motioned for Garth to take over and followed her out to the kitchen. He found her at the sink, splashing cold water on her face. Her cheeks were a little more than rosy, her eyes glossy from the fever within. 

“Alice, you need to go downstairs and get in that tub,” Bobby said sternly. She gave him a hard glare and nodded. 

“You think I don’t know that Bobby? I have a house full of hunters and John Winchester just waiting for me to spark,” Alice muttered. “I’ll be downstairs. I already yanked the fire alarm out of the panic room.” 

“I’ll come check on you in a few hours,” Bobby promised as she walked towards the stairs. 

“You just make sure that boy stays alive,” Alice said, her eyes beginning to glow like red hot coals. 

Sam pulled another washcloth off the shelf and ran it under the hot water. He had decided that a bath would have to wait; Dean had continued to lay limply on the bed, not responding to anything anyone did. He hadn’t flinched as they had finished his stitches or treated the burns on his chest. Sam continued to wash the grime from Dean, waiting for Bobby to say something. It didn’t take long. 

“You need to get some rest Sam,” Bobby said. 

“Bobby! I need to be here if Dean needs anything,” Sam exclaimed. 

“I can watch him for a bit,” Bobby said. “Tell you what, let’s carry one of those big armchairs in from the living room, you can try to get some sleep in here.”

After Bobby was satisfied that Sam was resting in the chair, they sat silently and watched Dean. His green eyes moved around the room carefully, as though looking for something not there. 

“You think he’ll be okay,” Sam asked aloud. “He still looks somewhat like a Wendigo.”

Bobby knew what Sam meant. Dean’s skin was still tight and pale, but no longer had the waxy, translucent look to it. His hands and feet were back to their normal size, but his nails were broken, stained, and still claw like. His hair was thin and greasy and his eyes were still dull. 

“He’ll be alright. I don’t doubt the Wendigo is gone; Jim managed to pull off an unheard of feat. If he turns into a hunter, he’d be a credit for everyone,” Bobby said as he watched Sam’s eyelids beginning to droop. He smiled as he saw Dean’s head turn towards Sam, his hand slowly sliding across the blankets before reaching out tentatively towards Sam. 

Bobby continued to watch as Dean stared at Sam, his face determined. Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it back slowly. Dean repeated this action several times before looking frustrated. Bobby slowly said, “Sam.”

Sam opened his eyes, startled from his doze. He immediately saw Dean and leaned closer. Dean slowly reached out and touched Sam’s face, before grabbing Sam’s sleeve and pulling him closer. 

“Sss…” Dean said, trying to form the word. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sound, it was a word he could hear in his own head, a word he remembered screaming over and over again back in the cave; a word that mattered more to him than most. 

“Ss..am,” Dean shook his head in frustration. He gripped Sam’s arm tighter and tried again. “Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam cried out, tears forming in his eyes again. “I thought we lost you man.”

Dean smiled lazily and slumped back onto the bed. Sam and Bobby watched as his eyes slid closed, a deep sigh escaping as a small smile graced his sickly features. 

Sam fell back into the chair and smiled. Bobby chuckled and patted Sam’s knee as he walked past. He smiled all the way to the panic room, knocking on the door before letting himself in. He was silent as he sat on down on the stool next to the bathtub. Alice was under the water, her burning eyes staring up at him from the water. He sat quietly until she slid out of the water, only her face coming into view. 

“How long is it going to take,” Bobby asked. He swore he could see steam rising from her, the air in the room cold. 

“It could take hours, if I’m lucky,” she replied. “It depends how long it takes for the fire to burst through.”

“You need any help,” Bobby asked gruffly, remembering Arizona. She had needed serious help that time. 

“I hope not,” she said. “My notes are in my desk if you need them. I rigged the ceiling in here with sprinklers, so hopefully I won’t burn down the house this time. You keep the boys upstairs if you can. I can’t risk going up until this is done.”

“Agreed,” Bobby said. “Alright, well, I’ll check on you again. I brought you something if you want to try it. I did some phoenix research not long ago.” 

Alice was surprised when Bobby handed her a lighter. She turned it over in her hand and looked up at him, questioningly. 

“You start it, get it over with faster that way,” he said apologetically as he walked to the door. 

Upstairs, Bobby started to make his rounds. Garth had crashed on the couch, Jim in his bed, Sam sleeping soundly in the chair. He watched as Dean slept; his arms and legs occasionally twitching. It started out slowly and escalated until Dean was thrashing wildly and let out a yell. Sam bolted out of the chair and reached out to hold onto Dean. 

“Hold him Sam! Watch his stitches,” Bobby called out as he tried to grab Dean’s legs. “It’s alright Dean, you’re alright. Shhh…”

As Dean’s movements stilled and he fell back to sleep, Sam reached out placed a hand on Dean’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” Sam said. 

Bobby sighed and patted Dean’s shoulder. “Never do anything easy, do you boy,” he said. “Sam, get some washcloths, let’s try to cool him down. We may have to wake Jim up and see about those antibiotics.”

The next morning resulted in a day much like the others had been, except with everyone more rested from the lack of howling. Bobby made breakfast while Sam tried to get Dean looking more like Dean. He had gotten up early and maneuvered Dean into the bathtub, after a good scrubbing and cutting his nails, Dean did look much more like himself, albeit far too thin. 

Sam slowly led Dean down the hallway and into the kitchen, everyone falling silent as Dean reluctantly allowed Sam to push him into a chair. He refused to look at anyone, only looking up from his lap to track Sam’s movements around the kitchen. Sam loaded up a plate for Dean and set it before him, hoping Dean’s appetite was back. 

Dean leaned close to the plate, sniffing the food, before slowly pushing it away from him. 

“Dean, aren’t you hungry,” Sam asked, concerned. Dean needed to eat or the feeding tube would have to stay. 

Dean reluctantly shook his head and slumped down into his chair, scooting his chair away from the table, away from the food. Sam scooped up a piece of sausage with a spoon and held it out to Dean, “Open up, Dean.” 

Dean lurched from the chair, causing it to fall to the floor behind him, he unsteadily fell to his hands and knees, gagging and dry heaving. Sam moved towards him, the spoon still in his hand; causing Dean to crawl away from him. 

“Sam,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. “Go get Jim up. Now.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jim was waving them out of the room, trying to give Dean some privacy. “But he’s my brother,” Sam argued. Jim didn’t say anything as he slammed the door shut, causing Dean to wince. Jim turned and looked at Dean, who was standing in the corner of the room, his back to the wall; staring at Jim hesitantly. Jim sighed when he saw the feeding tube in Dean’s hand, he hadn’t been surprised when Sam told him Dean had pulled it out. 

Jim slowly held his hands out and sat down on the chair. “I’m assuming this is all overwhelming. Your body is betraying you, you’re suddenly weak, and tired. Your senses are still working in overdrive, your sense of smell intense; the food must have been…a bit much.”

Dean relaxed slightly. “I remember,” Dean said, his voice gravelly from misuse. 

“What do you remember,” Jim asked curiously. 

“Hunger,” Dean ground out. 

Jim sat back and considered his next words. “Do you feel it now,” Jim asked. “The desire to eat flesh.”

When Dean didn’t respond, Jim tried a different tactic. “I’m sure you don’t want me to put that tube back in,” Jim said. “I don’t want to either. But you have to eat to get better, to help your body heal.”

“I didn’t want to eat them,” Dean said, his voice breaking. 

Jim winced at Dean’s words. He could tell from Dean’s shivering and glassy eyes he was fevered. “Dean, would you like to sit in the chair,” Jim asked. 

“No,” Dean said as he backed up to the wall again. 

“I need you to take some medicine,” Jim said. “Can you swallow them for me?”

Jim opened the door and waved for Sam to come back in. He handed Sam two pills and motioned at Dean. Sam slowly walked to Dean and held them out. Three minutes later, Dean was doubled over and dry heaving again, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“We have to put another central line in,” Jim stated. “He needs fluids and antibiotics.”

Thirty minutes later and Dean was fast asleep again, an IV bag hanging on a nail over the bed. 

“We have to put the tube back in,” Jim said apologetically to Sam. 

“Why? Because he didn’t eat breakfast,” Sam asked angrily. “Give him a chance.”

“His body needs nutrition Sam, to heal,” Jim explained. “Either get him to eat by tonight, or the tube goes back in.”

Meanwhile, downstairs Alice was toying with the lighter. She grimaced and finally gave herself a short nod. “Gotta do, what you gotta do,” Alice said aloud. She stripped down to her bare skin, not even feeling the icy cold air in the room. She stuffed her clothes into a metal bucket full of water for safekeeping and moved back to the tub. She threw in another handful of the tea leaves and lowered herself into the water. She flicked the lighter, bring up a hypnotic flame. She gazed into it, feeling the flames inside intensify. She reached with her other hand and touched the flame, it caressed her skin and traveled from the lighter onto her hand. She dropped the lighter into the water and watched as the flame grew bigger. She bit back a scream as the flames moved to envelop her, she plunged into the water, but the flames continued to burn causing steam to rise from the tub. 

Alice felt the flames move over her body, the water in the tub evaporating quickly. She felt the flames inside begin to burn intensely, leaving no part of her unscathed. Her screams seemed to echo through the room; the overhead sprinklers finally kicking in. 

Bobby was sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen when he felt the heat wave underfoot. 

“Ah, hell,” he muttered as he flipped through his notes looking for the phoenix.


	26. Nightmares and Late Night Wanderings

Dean woke as an unusual smell permeated the air. He pulled in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell. He glanced at Sam, asleep and slightly snoring in the armchair near the door. Dean climbed out of the bed, feeling the pull of the needle in his hand. He winced as he clumsily disconnected the line and let it clatter to the floor. He walked carefully down the hallway, his steps silent on the wooden floor. Once in the kitchen, he pulled another breath in, trying to pinpoint the smell. He moved to the fridge and managed to pull the heavy door open. He stood for a few minutes, gazing at the brightly colored containers inside. He felt his stomach lurch as he saw a container of sausages on the top shelf. 

He kneeled on the floor and pulled open the bottom drawer, a white paper bag tightly wrapped up. He sniffed again and pulled the bag out. He pulled the paper open and immediately dropped the bundle on the floor. He scrambled backwards to get away from the chunks of roughly cut meat that had fallen from the packaging. He felt the bile rise in his mouth as he realized the smell was that of old blood and decaying meat. He felt his mouth begin to water; from the need to eat or vomit, he wasn’t sure. 

He sat on the floor, bathed on the refrigerator light, for several minutes before he managed to shove the mess back into the fridge. He weakly washed his hands in the sink, the soap burning the open areas on his hands. 

He was halfway back to bed when another smell hit him. This one was familiar, but in a faint, peculiar way. It beckoned him down the hallway. He followed the smell down the dark stairs and stood in the narrow hallway, a panic room on either side. He looked in one room; it was dark and smelled stale. He silently slid open the little window in the other door, peering into the poorly lit room. He couldn’t see anything in the room, but his nose told him otherwise. He felt for the door handle, he froze as he heard a noise from within the room. His eyes narrowed as he gazed through the door again, this time he saw the outline of the bathtub. He breathed deeply and held in the smell, something smelled burnt. He felt a snarl grow in his throat. 

He turned back towards the stairs and walked back up to the room Sam was sleeping in. Dean crawled into the bed, burrowing into the covers and praying for his sense of smell to stop messing with him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the crisp white paper from the bundle in the fridge. He felt his throat tightening, his nausea growing. 

Sam woke to the sound of Dean retching. Sam jumped out of the chair and flipped on the light, causing Dean to throw a hand up over his still sensitive eyes. “Dean, you okay,” Sam asked, concerned over how skittish Dean was. 

Dean didn’t answer as his throat tightened, his dry heaving continuing. Sam laid a gentle hand on Dean’s back for comfort, wincing at how Dean jumped at his touch. “You’re okay, man,” Sam said quietly. “What made you sick?”

Dean shook his head and hunkered back in his blankets. It was an hour later, long after Sam had turned the light off, when Dean quietly said, “The man…in the kitchen.”

Sam opened his tired eyes, considering what Dean had said. “You mean when I tried to feed you breakfast,” Sam asked guiltily. 

“No…,” Dean said. “The man in the white paper.”

Sam lay awake for an hour, a sudden pit forming in his stomach. He checked to make sure Dean was asleep again before he tiptoed down the hallway and into the kitchen. Sam pulled open the fridge and yanked open the bottom drawer. He gagged at the sight, the bag had been opened and tossed loosely back into the drawer. He glanced towards the bedroom, wondering, praying that Dean hadn’t eaten any of it. He quietly closed the fridge, resolving to have someone help him dispose of John Doe’s last few pounds in the morning. 

Bobby was surprised to find Dean on the porch at sunrise, barefoot and shivering. Bobby pulled the door shut behind him, making Dean jump at the noise. 

“What are you going out here, Dean,” Bobby asked slowly. “It’s freezing.”

Dean looked down at his feet, as though unaware of the snow he was standing in. Bobby stood back and considered Dean. He had snow in his hair and on his shoulders, his skin red and chafed from the cold wind.

“Does Sam know you’re out here,” Bobby asked. 

Dean shook his head, not taking his eyes off of his feet. 

“How long you been out here,” Bobby asked. 

Dean didn’t answer and moved back to the door, slipping inside without a word. Bobby sighed and yanked his cap down tighter. He stood on the porch and looked across the yard; he could see footprints where Dean had walked across the yard and out into one of the fields. He knew he would have to walk the trail and find out what Dean had been up to. Twenty minutes later, Bobby and Garth were ankle deep in snow and rushing across the field, trying to not lose the trail in the still falling snow. 

“What do you think we’re going to find,” Garth asked through chattering teeth. 

“I don’t think he was out here making snow angels,” Bobby said gruffly. “But I’m worried-“

Garth interrupted him and said, “That we’ll find an animal all torn up? Can’t be, he wasn’t covered in blood. You would have noticed that for sure.”

Bobby grimaced and said, “Well, what then?” 

Garth stopped and pointed to the trail. “It ends here,” Garth said. “What makes this spot so special?”

Bobby looked where Garth was pointing and let out a deep sigh, feeling worry and disappointment beginning to build. “It’s the edge of the farm,” he explained. “On the other side of that creek is the end of the farmlands; a half mile past that is the official start to the national forest. He was going back.”

“Why would he do that,” Garth asked, puzzled. “He’s not a Wendigo anymore. He’s human; humans don’t live in the woods and stuff.”

Bobby headed back to the house and said, “Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s human anymore.”

Jim and Sam were arguing when Garth and Bobby walked back into the house. “Jim, you so much as say the word and I will break your nose,” Sam said, towering over Jim. 

“Sam, we talked about this, he needs the tube—“

Bobby watched as Sam reeled back and punched Jim, midsentence. “He doesn’t need the goddamn tube,” Sam yelled. “He’ll eat!”

Jim stood there, pinching his bleeding nose and waved a hand at Sam. “Fine, whatever you say Sam. Don’t bother with the antibiotics either, he’ll die of starvation before he even finishes them,” Jim said icily. He walked out of the room and disappeared into his room. 

“You want to tell me what that was about Sam,” Bobby asked, pushing Garth down the hallway after Jim. 

“He won’t give Dean a chance,” Sam argued loudly. “Dean just needs to get his bearings. He’ll be okay.”

“He won’t be able to if he doesn’t eat,” Bobby said softly. He looked at Sam’s shaking form, the bags under his eyes, and the worry in his face. “What’s really got you so worked up? We both knew the tube was likely to stay for a while, why are you mad at Jim?”

Sam started to speak, only to rub a hand over his tired face and drop onto the couch. “Dean was up last night, wandering the house while I was asleep,” Sam said quietly. “He…got into the fridge and found the last of the John Doe we had been using to feed ….the Wendigo.”

“Sam,” Bobby exclaimed. “That is pretty darn serious, son. Do you think he ate any of it?”

Sam closed his eyes, his head dropping back. “I don’t know, Bobby. I don’t want to ask him… I’m afraid of the answer. I thought the whole flesh thing was a Wendigo thing, which would stop once we got it out of him.”

“Sam, he’s not out eating farmers,” Bobby argued. “He found a package in the fridge; a normal, human place to find food. Let me talk to him. Where is he?”

“In the panic room,” Sam said, his face guilty. “I didn’t make him go, he just went. I asked him where he went this morning. And I asked him where all he wandered last night. He just went down to the panic room and closed the door. He doesn’t want to come out now.”

“Well, I can answer one of your questions, he went to the edge of the property this morning,” Bobby said. “He was headed for the forest. He could have easily gone to, but he turned back for some reason or another.”

Sam sat silently and watched Bobby walk down the hallway and disappear into the cellar. He paused outside of the room and knocked before he walked in. “Dean,” Bobby called out. He walked into the dim room and saw Dean huddled in the corner, shivering in the cold. 

“Dean, what are you doing down here,” Bobby asked as he pulled a quilt from the cot and wrapped it around Dean. 

“It’s what I deserve,” Dean muttered, a round of coughing bursting from his lungs. 

“Don’t be an idjit,” Bobby scoffed. “You were possessed by a Wendigo, you did some stuff you’ll never be proud of, and we all fought like hell and got you back. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“I…I found the meat in the fridge, the smell pulled me from a dead sleep. That’s not normal Bobby. That’s not human,” Dean said.

Bobby looked up at Dean and guilty asked, “I don’t suppose you want to tell me if you ate any of it.”

Dean laughed a sad, soulful laugh. “You want to know if I am a monster after all,” he stated. “I wanted to, I really did. You have to kill me Bobby. You can’t let me live like this, craving…flesh like its some sort of delicacy. You know you have to.”

“I think you’ve been through a lot and your thinking you’re supposed to just jump right back to normal,” Bobby said. “Ain’t going to happen like that. You’re going to have to work at it, starting with food.”

Dean turned slightly green and said, “I can’t.”

“You know the consequences of not doing it,” Bobby warned. “We’re not about to let you starve to death, we’ll shove that tube so far down your throat I’ll be able to tickle your kidneys with it. You understand me?”

Dean nodded slightly, his shade of green darkening. 

“I said do you understand me, boy,” Bobby said sternly. 

“Yessir,” Dean replied. 

“Now get your scrawny ass upstairs. I don’t want to catch you down here again,” Bobby said. “It’s too cold for an old man and young kid with pneumonia. Oh-and you get the wandering itch again, you better wake someone up. If you don’t, I swear I’ll handcuff you to Sam every night.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean muttered as he climbed the steps. 

“Go see Jim about your antibiotics,” Bobby called up the stairs. “I want to see an IV bag following you around when I get back up there.”

Bobby waited until he heard Dean close the door, before stepping into the other panic room. He squinted his eyes into the dim room, looking for any sign of Alice. He stepped up to the bathtub and looked inside; there were charred marks inside the tub, not a drop of water to be found. He pinched the ash in the bottom of the tub and turned when he heard a light cough. 

“You need some phoenix ash,” Alice asked from the shadows. “I hear it’s an ingredient in short supply these days, not many phoenixes around anymore.”

Bobby let the ash fall from his fingertips, “Never had much need for it.”

“Might as well have it,” Alice said. “You’ll find someone who needs it.”

Bobby watched as Alice stepped into the dim light spilling into the room from the hallway. She was dressed in the wet clothes she had left in the bucket earlier, the jeans suddenly too long. Bobby noticed the red tint to her hair and grinned. 

“You had that same color hair when I first saw you,” he said. “You hated it.”

“I still do,” Alice muttered. “Red hair. Again. And I’m somewhat shorter this time. Just great, I’m going to have to hem everything I own.”

“How you feeling? You ready to join us upstairs,” Bobby asked, the smell of fire and ash making his eyes water. 

“How do you think this is going to go over,” Alice asked, waving a hand over her new appearance. 

“You’re still Alice, this is still your house,” Bobby said. “The boys will get over it.”

Two hours of scrubbing and looking deep into her closet finally brought Alice to the kitchen table. She knew she needed to address her physical appearance with the boys, but the thought of explaining being a phoenix again was enough to make her want to throttle someone. She finally asked Bobby to do it. 

Bobby gathered everyone in the living room, except Dean had fallen asleep again. Bobby waved Alice into the room, her newly reddened hair and pale skin obvious in the light. 

“Boys, make no mistake about it, this is Alice, she burned through her old body,” Bobby explained. “As a phoenix, she’ll spend so much time with one appearance only to burn through it.”

“Do you really get ‘reborn’ from the ashes,” Garth asked, his face innocent. 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Alice snarked as she walked out of the room. “If anyone makes any ginger jokes about my hair, they’ll be digging their own grave behind the barn.”

As Alice and Bobby started to make dinner for the group, Alice motioned at Bobby and leaned close. “I heard Dean moving around the house last night, he came downstairs and checked out the panic rooms,” Alice muttered. “You really think he’s alright to be on his own at night?”

Bobby glanced at the hallway leading to the boys. “No, I don’t,” he said. “He also went outside and was heading back to the forest. He came back on his own, but I think we’re going to have to keep an eye on him. We might not be out of the woods yet.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Alice replied as Sam walked into the kitchen, a reluctant Dean trailing behind. 

Dean watched wearily as Sam fixed his own plate of lasagna and sat down across from him. 

“You want to try some,” Sam asked. 

Dean’s face said it all, he stared at the food with disdain on his face; he looked slightly green as Sam shoved a large bite in his mouth. “It’s really good Dean,” Sam said around the food. “I’ll get you some.”  
Sam didn’t even get across the kitchen before Dean was headed back to their room, holding his stomach as he went. Sam sighed and slumped back into his chair. 

“He eaten anything yet,” Alice asked as she sat down at the table. 

“Not a thing. He couldn’t even get water down,” Sam mumbled. “Or antibiotics. Jim started him on IV fluids and meds.”

“What about another feeding tube to supplement,” Alice asked, not seeing Bobby’s wince at the word.

“I was hoping he would eat something so he wouldn’t have to need one,” Sam said. 

“What we want for Dean, and what Dean can do, are different things right now,” Alice said. “You know he won’t ask for help. Don’t make it so easy for him to slip away. Fight for what he needs, not for what you or even he wants.”

Sam nodded his understanding and stood from the table. “Guess I need to apologize to Jim,” Sam said. 

An hour later Garth, Jim, and Sam were standing in Dean’s room. “We have to do it Dean,” Sam stated firmly. “This is what you need right now.”

“No,” Dean stated just as firmly. 

“Dean, what if you make a compromise,” Garth said calmly. “Jim puts the tube in and makes sure you’re getting what you need. After that, we pull it back out. Every meal time, you do your best to eat. If you do, no tube. If you can’t do it, or don’t eat enough to satisfy Jim and Sam then the tube goes in for that meal.”

Dean hesitated and finally nodded. Jim sighed and opened up the bag he had been holding. “I can put the tube back in now, make sure you have enough calories for the night,” Jim said. “You alright with that?”

Dean shrugged. Jim pulled another sterile kit out and started to lay out the items he needed. “You probably don’t remember how this works,” he said. 

“I remember you checking it before, and how it felt to have it in,” Dean said, a grimace on his face. 

Jim gave him an apologetic look and held up the tube, “Lay back. We’ll have this done in a few minutes.”

Two hours later, the gravity feed was finished and Jim carefully eased the tube back out of Dean’s nose. “We need to talk about why you’re having a hard time eating,” Jim said quietly.

“What are you? Some hunter doctor,” Dean asked suddenly. 

Jim laughed and said, “Not quite. I’m supposed to be doing my residency down in Atlanta right now. This seems to be more my thing though.”

Dean sat silently as Sam and Jim talked about the stitches, the burns, and weight gain goals. He woke hours later to a dark, quiet house. He sniffed the air tentatively; the alluring smell of the meat was gone. Sam or Bobby must have gotten rid of it, he thought to himself. 

He felt himself start to drift back to sleep when he felt it, an ache in his bones. He watched in horror as his fingers began to lengthen, he felt his teeth growing painfully and their sharpness cut into his tongue. He took a deep breath and could smell the warm blood in the room, Sam sleeping in the chair. Just as he leapt through the air towards Sam, he woke up screaming. 

Sam jumped from his chair and grabbed Dean. 

“Dean! Dean-wake up! Open your eyes,” Sam yelled out as he not so gently shook Dean. The screaming continued until Jim and Bobby rushed into the room. 

“What the hell happened,” Bobby called out over the ruckus. 

“Nightmare,” Sam called out as he tried to grab Dean’s thrashing arms. 

Jim ran out of the room, returning with a syringe in his hand. “Dean! Calm down,” he called out, grabbing Dean’s chin and forcing him to look at him. “You need to calm down.” 

Dean continued to thrash, unaware of the room, trapped in the nightmare. 

“Hold him down,” Jim called out. 

Sam and Bobby doubled their efforts to keep Dean still, Jim stabbed Dean in the forearm and depressed the plunger. Dean relaxed in seconds, his movements slowing. The men all backed away from the bed, hearts racing. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” Jim said. “His body needs to recover, we can’t risk more drugs.”

“We can’t risk him losing his marbles either,” Bobby stated. “Who’s taking the first watch?”

Sam took the first shift, watching Dean’s restless movements, even while he slept. Sam sat in the near dark, tears running down his face, wondering how to save his brother. He sniffed as he felt a box of tissues being pressed into his hands. 

“You always cry in the dark,” Alice asked. “It’s even better to cry in the shower, very relaxing.”

Sam snorted and gestured at his brother. “He’d never let me live it down if he saw me crying,” Sam said. “That’s the rule, no chick flick moments.”


	27. Sugar and Spice and Everywhere Frostbite

The next morning was tense. The snow fall had increased, making even a trip outside unpleasant. The hunters were restless, even Garth sitting silently at the table, cleaning guns with Bobby and Sam. Alice had begun the task of journaling the events of the past few days, occasionally asking Jim questions about the ceremony he had completed. Sam sat at the table, cleaning his and Dean’s guns; watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. Dean stood with his back to them, shoulders hunched down, wrapped in Sam’s hoodie. He gazed out at the snow, his eyes never wavering. Sam glanced at the clock, it was nearly lunch time. Dean had refused to eat breakfast, not even trying to eat the plain toast Alice had made for him. To make matters worse, he had tried to hide in the bathroom when Sam and Jim had set out to do the tube feeding. 

Sam had gone through Alice’s cupboards and with Bobby’s help, concocted a vegetarian chicken soup. It was just vegetables, noodles, and chicken broth. Jim had looked through the ingredients and calculated how much Dean needed to eat to avoid the tube and Sam was praying Dean would go for it. 

Dean listened to the quiet conversations going on in the room, trying to stifle the coughs that seemed to rattle in his chest. He didn’t bother to join in the conversation, words still felt funny in his mouth; as though his mouth had forgotten how to shape them. He could feel Sam’s eyes boring into him. He listened to the pot boiling on the stove, ever since he had seen Sam chopping up carrots he had felt the same heaviness in his gut, the sure sign that nothing was going down his hatch without a fight. He swallowed a few times, testing the lump in his throat. The very thought of eating, even mushy vegetables was enough to make him sick. He leaned against the cold glass of the window, allowing himself a minute to hold his stomach. He felt nauseous; he swallowed back the taste of bile and wondered if he could make it past Sam to the bedroom. He didn’t want to be in there either, but anywhere away from worrying, prying eyes was better than where he was. He just wanted to wake up from the nightmare he was trapped in; he was so tired his body ached all over. 

He tried to casually walk towards the hallway, making sure to keep his head down where Sam couldn’t make eye contact. He walked into the room and closed the door. He eyed the bed, he wanted to fall back onto the soft mattress and sleep, but he knew the nightmares would start again. Every time he closed his eyes he could almost feel himself running in the forest, the coolness of the air, the freedom from right and wrong, nothing but instinct. It was the faces that the nightmares brought that scared him. He couldn’t remember anything about them except the terror in their eyes and the burn in his muscles as he had run them down. The copper taste in his mouth, the warmth…the feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment. 

Before he knew it, Dean was kneeling on the floor, his head reeling, and his stomach contracting in painful spasms. He couldn’t help himself as a pitiful wail slipped from his mouth. When Sam burst into the room, Dean felt himself being crushed under the weight of Sam’s disappointed face. Sam rushed to him, kneeling on the floor next to him, telling him to breathe. He felt panicked as he felt himself begin to heave, the anxiety rolling off of Sam making Dean feel worse. He felt hot tears burning down his cheeks as he vomited up the pale fluids that Jim and Sam had pushed down his feeding tube earlier. 

“Jim! Get in here,” Sam shouted. Dean felt himself turn red from embarrassment as Jim and Sam picked him up and set him on the bed. Sam set to cleaning up the mess while Jim turned to Dean. Jim scrutinized Dean, one eyebrow cocked slightly as he stared at the pale, sweating man. 

“How you doing,” Jim asked. 

“I’m fine,” Dean ground out with a cough. “Ready to hit the road.”

“Not what I asked. I want to know how you think you’re doing,” Jim stated. “No bullshit this time.”

Dean glowered at Jim, noticing how Sam was eavesdropping in the doorway. “I’m fine,” Dean said. “I want to leave.”

“And go where,” Sam said as he burst into the room. “You can’t even eat, much less hunt. No offense dude, but you look like shit warmed over. Alice said we could stay until we’re ready.”

Dean angrily pushed himself from the bed, slightly unsteady as he got his feet under him. “You want me to eat, fine! I’ll eat and then we’re leaving,” Dean yelled out. Dean weakly pushed past Jim and Sam. 

“What the hell is going on in there,” Bobby asked as Dean stormed into the kitchen. Dean didn’t answer him as he yanked open the fridge, he fought the nausea as he scanned the contents for something he could force himself to eat. He could feel Sam standing a few feet behind him, watching him. Dean hesitated before grabbing a bowl of leftover lasagna and snagging a spoon from the counter. 

“Dean,” Bobby warned. “I wouldn’t do that son. You know you’re not ready for that kind of eating yet. How about some soup or toast to start?”

Dean held the bowl out in front of him, spoon held above the bowl. “No Bobby, see I don’t have time for that,” Dean exclaimed, feeling more hysterical by the second. Everyone was standing around him, he began to feel claustrophobic, and his palms began to sweat. “See, Sam said if I eat, we can leave. I don’t want to be here anymore, so I have to eat. I don’t want any more of the worrying, the looks, the needles, or the tubes. I don’t want any goddamn drugs. I want my goddamn car keys!”

He hesitated as he loaded the spoon and pulled it to his mouth, tears already running down his face. He gagged as he felt the noodles, nearly heaved when he felt the texture of the meat. He made himself begin to chew, never taking his eyes off of Sam. He swallowed down the food, half chewed. He felt his stomach spasm at the solid food and begin to clench, the telltale saliva building in his mouth. He knew it was a matter of moments before it would come back up. He dropped the bowl onto the floor with a crash and moved as fast as he could for the front door, the lump in his leg aching as he unsteadily picked up the pace. He knew Sam and Bobby were behind him, he grabbed the keys off the table and yanked the door open. He was half way down the steps when he slipped, he felt himself lose his balance and his feet slipping out from underneath him, the icy steps ruining his plan. He didn’t stop when he landed, pain racing down his hip. He held the keys in a death grip and started to crawl to his car, his baby. His home, no matter where he was or how broken he was. 

He cried out as the pain his leg increased, his tears now from pain, along with the anguish of feeling trapped in a house full of do-gooders. He pulled his legs under him, trying to stand up. He glanced over his shoulder, suddenly worried they would drag him back inside. He saw Bobby and Sam standing on the porch, watching with pained faces. Dean doubled over, the lasagna making a hideous comeback in the snow covered yard. He spit, trying to remove the taste from his mouth. He shivered in the cold, his bare feet going numb in the snow. He didn’t bother to look back as he wrestled open the big, black door with a cold squeak. He climbed in and yanked the door shut, locking himself inside. He shivered in the cold and tried to crank the engine. He desperately wanted to hear her purr, to know that he could hit the accelerator and leave the nightmare behind. When the engine refused to turn over once, twice, and a final third time he made sure his audience on the porch could hear his disappointment and anger. He reached into the back seat and pulled the heavy wool blanket onto the front seat. He might not be able to leave, but Hell be damned, he wasn’t going back in that house. 

Sam and Bobby watched from the porch, each wondering how to get Dean out of the freezing cold car. Garth, Jim, and Alice, stepped out behind them, watching as Dean shivered and coughed in the car. 

“Wouldn’t start,” Alice asked. 

“Nope,” Sam said. “Engine must be frozen up.” 

Garth cleared his throat and held out his hand to Sam; he held out his hand curiously and watched as Garth dropped a distributor cap into his hand. 

“Would have been my move too,” Garth said. “Don’t tell him it was me. I still want a chance to hunt with him, not be hunted by him.”

Bobby chuckled and slapped Garth on the back. “Good move,” Bobby said. “How we going to get him out of that giant icebox of a car? That can’t be helping his pneumonia to be sitting in there.”

“Not really,” Jim said. “I think we need to give him some space, he’s gone from total human isolation to a cramped house full of cabin fevered hunters. Let’s give him and Sam some space.”

Everyone but Sam trouped back inside, Bobby tossing Sam his jacket and gloves. Sam bundled up and headed to the car. He didn’t bother to knock on the door, there was no way Dean was letting him in. Sam sat on the icy hood, the cold numbing him. He resolved to wait until Dean gave him some kind of sign; he knew he had pushed Dean to far, regretting getting in his face about not being able to leave. Without Garth’s foresight, Dean would be proving him wrong right about now. 

He rubbed a hand of his face, wondering just how long it would take for Dean to feel that he had proved his point. He was freezing and he knew that the interior of the car was cold. Dean had been dressed alright for hanging out inside the house, but certainly not enough to be hanging in the Impala in freezing weather. He pulled his jacket tighter, shivering as the snow started to fall again. 

Bobby watched the boys from the window, wondering if he needed to go out there and knock some sense into them. Dean was being stubborn, and Sam was being Sam. Bobby sighed and moved back to the table, he and Garth made an effort to finish cleaning all the guns and after a short talk with Alice and Jim, they moved all of the guns to the panic room and locked them up tightly. No point in taking chances. 

An hour later and Sam’s ass was pretty numb; briefly wondering if he could get frostbite there. He slid off the hood and walked around the car, using the spare key he had asked Bobby to make him to pop the trunk. He felt around and pulled another blanket out of the duffel bag before climbing back up on the hood. He had begun to drift off when a loud noise made him jump, sliding off the hood into a gangly lump on the ground. Dean had honked the horn. 

Sam dusted the snow off his butt when Dean rolled the window down. “Go inside Sam, you’re going to get sick,” Dean called out through chattering teeth. 

“Can’t do that Dean. You want to be out here, so this is where I’ll be too,” Sam said, trying to peer inside the car and see what Dean had been doing for the past hour. He knew that most of the weapons were in the trunk, but he couldn’t be sure that Dean hadn’t found anything. “You ready to go back in?”

Dean shook his head and said, “I meant what I said. I want to leave.”

Sam sighed and gazed out across the snowy fields. “I know you want to leave,” Sam replied. “But pretend it’s me in your shoes. You wouldn’t let me leave in that kind of condition. There is immediate access to an…almost doctor here. You need IV medication and wound care. You need nutrition from a feeding tube—“

“Yeah I get it Sammy,” Dean said angrily. “I’m a burden.”

Sam reeled back as though Dean had physically hit him. “You’re not a burden Dean! But if it was me locked in the car, you would have already pried the door off and dragged me back inside. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to do the same for you?”

Dean refused to look at him and asked, “Have you seen dad? Does he know?”

Sam considered what to tell him; he knew Dean knowing that their dad hadn’t bothered to show up until the hunt for him was over wasn’t really going to help Dean. “He was up here just before we pulled the Wendigo out of you,” Sam said. “He knows we were going to save you.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. 

“Do you want to talk to him? I can have him come by,” Sam explained. “He’d probably be staying here, but he and Alice have a thing about hating each other.”

“Do you remember being here as a kid,” Dean asked. 

“No,” Sam said. “Do you?”

Dean looked around the yard and nodded. “I’m tired Sammy,” Dean muttered as he lay down on the seat. “I just want to sleep.” 

Sam didn’t say anything, seeing an opportunity coming along. He leaned against the door and waited, the snow falling peacefully. Sam’s legs were freezing by the time he reached through the lowered window and quietly popped the door open. He hesitated as he slowly scooped Dean up, he was still so light. He saw Dean’s eyes open momentarily before sliding shut. He was halfway across the yard when he heard Dean mutter, “I can walk Sam. I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re barefoot and the ground had a lot of snow on it,” Sam explained tiredly. “I got you this time.”

Dean didn’t open an eye as Sam laid him back on the bed and dragged a few quilts on top of him. Bobby walked in behind him and handed him a hot water bottle for Dean’s feet. Sam doubled back to Dean and checked the pocket on the hoodie; finding a small pocket knife. It wasn’t much but it made Sam’s blood run cold. 

Once Sam was convinced Dean wasn’t going anywhere, he walked to the kitchen. The other hunters were sitting around the table, cards and beer bottles littering the table. Sam dropped into an empty chair looking exhausted. 

“Sam, in case you go looking, we moved all the weapons down to the panic room,” Bobby said. 

“Add this to the pile,” Sam said as he slid the pocket knife to Bobby. “He found it in the car; I just found it in his hoodie.”

“Ah hell,” Bobby stated. “We’re going to have to check the house over. What do you want to do about this Sam? He’s your brother, do you think he’d do better on the road, back in the Impala with just you?”

“I know he would be happier that way, but I don’t think it’s what he needs,” Sam said staring at his folded hands. “We have to get past the eating thing. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Start small, without an audience,” Alice suggested. “Let him eat in his room. He needs to reteach his body and mind how to eat normal food again.”

“And with something he likes,” Bobby said. “No offense, but that chicken soup is the last thing he would normally eat. Start with something he used to eat.”

“Alright,” Sam said. “Alice, where do you keep your flour?”

Two hours later, the smell of sugar and butter hung in the air, enticing even Garth and Jim to give up their card game. Dean woke to the sound of laughing and talking; he could smell something familiar but wasn’t about to leave the room. His leg hurt terribly and his feet were still cold, he felt a bout of coughing come on and felt around the bedside table for the light. He knocked Sam’s book of the table and had to lean down to find it under the bed. He came out with the book and a small plastic bottle. He rattled the bottle and spun the cap loose. He check the label, Sam’s sleeping pills. He thought about the nightmares, being tired and Jim’s argument that rest would heal him faster. He dropped two into his hand and considered how to swallow them. The longer he stared, the tighter the lump in his throat got. 

He was startled when Sam opened the door, plate in hand. He saw Sam’s eyes go to the pills in his hand, he dropped them onto the covers and froze. 

“Dean! What are you doing,” Sam cried out. “How many did you take?”

He lunged for the bottle in Dean’s hand, scooping the other two off the bed. He quickly dumped them into his hand, counting them out. He tried to count how many he had taken after Jim had given them to him. He was relieved to find that every pill was accounted for. He looked at Dean; he looked bewildered as he watched Sam angrily dump the pills back into the bottle. 

“I didn’t take any Sam,” Dean said quietly.

Sam shoved the bottle in his pocket and started to look in the drawers, under the bed, and even in the bed sheets. 

“Sam! What are you doing,” Dean asked angrily. His chest felt heavy and his stomach was hurting. 

“Making sure you’re okay,” Sam replied, not looking up as he continued to search. 

“I am right here,” Dean said. “And like I said, I’m fine, just tired.”

“Yeah, so tired you got into pills that aren’t yours to take,” Sam mumbled from under the bed. 

“Sam! Get out,” Dean yelled as he started to cough again. 

Sam stood up and stalked out of the room, he knew had he pushed Dean’s buttons again. He couldn’t seem to not. 

Twenty minutes later, Dean heard someone walk into the room. He looked up as Bobby walked in, hold a small plate. Bobby didn’t say anything as he restarted Dean’s antibiotic IV and fluids; setting the small child sized plate on the bedside table. Dean smelled sugar and a very familiar smell-cherry. Before Bobby walked of the room, he sat next to Dean and said, “You eat that and I’ll keep Jim out of here with that tube tonight.”

Dean watched Bobby walk out and turned over to look at the narrowly cut piece of pie. He stared at it, listening to the others carry on in the kitchen, before reaching for the fork.


	28. A Grave Surprise

Bobby was pleased with himself, the smile on his face almost enough to make his face sore. He carried the plate to the kitchen and placed it in front of Sam. 

“What’s that,” Sam asked as he idly toyed with the breakfast in front of him. 

“That is the slice of pie I gave your brother last night,” Bobby said. “He didn’t eat much more than a bite, but it’s something.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up and soft grin worked its way onto his face. “It’s a start,” Sam said. “I wonder if we can get him to eat any more of it for breakfast.”

“I hate to be the asshole in this conversation,” Jim said with a grimace. “But he needs more than just pie. We need to work on getting him to eat regular food, whatever he’ll eat-and then add the tube feedings in to help increase his weight gain steadily. He’s so emaciated that it would take a lot of pie to get his body back to normal, the more high calorie items he can handle the better. The feedings will help pack some weight back on him.” 

Sam look dejected across the table and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed. “But let’s offer up the pie first.”

Dean lay in bed awake, unwilling to give up the warmth in the bed. His leg had throbbed most of the night but he refused to ask for any pain medications. He didn’t like the idea of being drugged up again, he had spent so much time in a confused state and he refused to go back there without a fight. He had woken up several times in the night, nightmares almost back to back. The cold sweats had been the worst; he had woken up drenched twice. He knew his leg and hip were bruised and he had been unable to lie down comfortably. 

He sighed and slowly slid out of the bed, heading for the small bathroom. He filled the tub up with hot water, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand for a long shower. He shivered as he slipped into the tub, sliding down until only his face was above the water line. He closed his eyes and listened to the water in the tub, a hollow sound that filled his head. He gently probed his hip, he could tell without looking at it that the bruise was dark and angry. He arched his leg and felt the pain increase, he could move every joint but only painfully. He opened his eyes and stared at the slightly visible lump in his leg. He felt it and frowned, wondering how it had happened. He pressed the lump and grimaced at the deformity, he knew Sam had probably already seen it and had a plan that Dean wasn’t going to like. Probably a plan that involved a hospital and physical therapy. 

He let the warmth of the water soothe him and block out the sounds of the house. He tuned out the pain in his body, the ache in his stomach; only the sound of the water filling his head. He relaxed and let out a sigh of relief; he would never tell Sammy, but his daytime television addiction had panned out with a few meditation techniques. He stayed deep in the tub until the water turned cool and his shivering forced him out. He managed to get dressed, unable to pull his right sock on, his hip too painful to fully bend for him. He limped out to the kitchen table and sat across from Bobby. 

Bobby looked up from the journal he had been reading and smiled. “You want anything? We still have plenty of pie,” Bobby said. “The boys managed to shovel out Alice’s truck and are making a supply run. You’ll have to wait for them to get back for Jim to run your feeding tube.”

Dean caught Bobby’s eye and gave him a slight smirk. “Bullshit Bobby,” Dean said. “If you really wanted that tube in, you’d be stuffing it down my nose and throat. You’re more than capable of doing it. You want me to either have to wait on Jim or eat right now.”

Bobby laughed and said, “Guilty, so how about it? Pie or soup?”

Dean grimaced and looked at the journal in front of Bobby. “What are you reading,” he asked. 

“Alice’s notes about the Wendigo activity,” Bobby said as he moved to the fridge. 

“About me,” Dean asked. 

“Yep, mostly about you,” Bobby said. “You could always talk to Alice, I think she’d appreciate a chance to know what all happened out there. Pie?”

Dean shook his head and turned the journal towards him. He thumbed through the pages, surprised to see sketches of himself, lists of drug compounds, and even a drawing of the Manitou. He didn’t look up as Bobby set a small slice of pie in front of him. He felt his stomach clench up and fought the urge to leave the table. Of all the people in his life, he feared the day he disappointed Bobby. He reached out for the fork and scooped up a tiny bit of the cherry filling. He turned the cherry in his mouth, feeling the texture, wondering why such a once familiar fruit should be one of the catalysts for his problem. He knew Bobby was purposefully not looking at him, thumbing back through the journal and sipping his coffee. 

Dean suddenly asked, “So how did I break my leg?”

Bobby glanced up at him and shrugged. “Only you can tell that story. Alice noticed it the first time she spotted you in the forest, said you were limping but keeping up with the nest,” Bobby said. 

“Alice found me,” Dean asked, confused. “I thought Sam found me.”

“He looked. He even used a hound for a few weeks, but no one could find you,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. “Alice spotted you when she was out trying to find the nest.”

“Why didn’t she just shoot me,” Dean asked. “She would have killed the others.”

“She did kill the others, we all did,” Bobby said, not sure where Dean was headed but he knew he wouldn’t like it. “What are you getting at, son?”

“You killed the Wendigos, I was a Wendigo,” Dean said sadly. “You should have finished the job. You could be back in South Dakota, Alice would be doing her thing, Jim would be back in medical school, and Garth-well, he’d be doing whatever he was doing before. And Sam would be going back to his apple pie life. You guys blew your chance.”

“Our chance?! To what, bury you,” Bobby exclaimed, the disbelief on his face. “I can tell you right now, that we’d take this over that other shit any day of the week. You can pull your head out of your ass right now and be glad you’re breathing. Now eat your pie and stop flapping your trap. You’re alive, be happy about it for once in your life.”

Dean sat silently as Bobby stared into the journal, not bothering to read it. He knew Dean was trying to rationalize why his life was more worth saving than those other people, but he didn’t give two shits about the accountant or the weekend hikers, they weren’t Dean. He contemplated his next words carefully and said, “Would you rather be dead?”

Dean ducked his head and said, “Of course not Bobby, and I’m grateful you saved me. But, I don’t feel like me anymore. I feel caged. I’ve got a busted leg, pneumonia, bruises and pain that keep me up at night, aside from the nightmares…which are…terrifying. I dream that I’m tearing someone’s throat out, and in the dream it feels so right...so pure. When I wake up, I can still taste it...”

Bobby waited for Dean to finish, he could tell from Dean’s body language that he was holding something back. He held back a sigh, he knew Dean was capable of emotion, but why Dean had to wait until Sam had gone to the grocery store, he just couldn’t understand. Singer luck, he supposed. 

“The worst part is that when I wake up, the first thought to cross my mind it not how WRONG it is, but the utter disappointment I feel when I realize I’m in a bed, not savagely living in the woods,” Dean spat out, his face racked with guilt and self-loathing. 

“Son, I’m not about to tell you how easy it’s going to be for you to get over this,” Bobby said. “But you have to let the monster go. We pulled it out of you; drug it out of your very soul fighting tooth and nail. We can’t help you if all you’re doing is clinging to it, holding onto it like some sort of self-inflicted reminder of what you did. You gotta let it go and I mean all of it.”

Bobby looked at Dean’s slouching form and wondered just how much truth he could take. “You know, Alice told us that Wendigos target people who can’t be satisfied, who can never be filled. That they are the people who lose everything because nothing will ever be enough,” Bobby said as he nudged the plate of pie closer to Dean. “That sound familiar to you? You have to accept that your life is worth it; even without the hunting, the Impala, even your own brother and dad.”

Bobby kicked himself as he watched Dean further pull into himself, the plate untouched. 

Dean pushed himself up from the table and said, “Good pep talk, Bobby.” 

Bobby watched Dean walk back to his room, fifteen minutes later he reemerged fully dressed, limping more than before. He was silent as Dean grabbed the keys again and hobbled out to the car. Bobby stood by the window and watched as Dean popped the hood and stared down into the engine. He saw the anger on Dean’s face from across the yard. He heard the hood slam down, harder than Dean would have ever tolerated from anyone else. He watched as Dean went to the trunk next, he paled at the reaction he anticipated from Dean. Sam had cleaned all of the guns and weaponry from the trunk, locking it all up in the panic room. He was sitting back at the table as Dean stormed into the house, his face red. 

“Where is it,” Dean demanded. 

“What,” Bobby asked. 

“The distributor cap,” Dean spat. “I’m not having engine trouble, I’m being held hostage!”

Bobby chuckled, one look at Dean’s face making him pause. “You want to leave, son,” he asked seriously. “You’re going to have one heck of a long walk.”

“Someone emptied the trunk, where are my guns,” Dean demanded. 

“Dean, why would you be worried about that right now? We’re not hunting. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re ass deep in snow,” Bobby stated. 

Dean didn’t bother to explain himself, he didn’t really know why he wanted to be armed; but he certainly didn’t like that Sam-he just knew it had been Sam-had taken all of HIS stuff out of the trunk. He waved at Bobby and stormed back outside.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby was on the phone with John, filling him in on the problem. Bobby had watched as Dean had stormed out the front door and began walking purposefully down the snow covered road; coughing as he went. Bobby knew his car was stuck in the snow; John’s truck was an obvious choice to use. Besides, for all Bobby knew John might have some worthwhile advice for Dean. Doubtful, but he had seen miracles before. 

Dean shivered as the bitter wind cut through him, making each breath more painful than the last. He tried to calculate how many days of antibiotics he had left; he would have to find a local clinic to get a fresh prescription. He mentally kicked himself; they weren’t going to give him IV medications and he didn’t think he could swallow pills. He shrugged and kept walking. He would just have to buck up and do it. He knew he had to eat, he didn’t want to have to shove a tube down his own nose and throat, and he’d shoot himself first. 

He recognized the rumble of the truck before it hit him who was behind the wheel. His steps faltered at the thought of his dad getting involved. He ducked his head down, wondering if his dad might drive on past him; after all it had been months since John had seen him and he’s lost a lot of weight during that time. He groaned as he heard the brakes. 

He felt John’s eyes boring into his back seconds before the truck pulled up beside him. 

“What are you doing out here Dean,” John called out. “You need to get back inside.”

Dean didn’t answer, his feet continuing to carry him away from all the worry behind him. 

“Dean!” John called out, his tone strict. “Get in the truck.”

Dean slowed down, but didn’t stop. 

“Dean! That is an order,” John barked. “Get in the truck now.”

Dean stopped dead in his track and angrily turned to his dad, his face visible through the lowered window. “Why are you here, dad? Don’t you have some important job to be doing,” Dean yelled back. 

“I am trying to do it, but the stupid kid won’t listen to anyone,” John barked back. “Get in the truck. I promise I won’t take you back to Alice’s for a while.”  
Dean glanced in both directions of the road, there were no other cars or even wagons out and to be honest, he thought the cold was about to burn through his aching lungs. He yanked the door open and climbed in next to John before saying, “Don’t take me back.”

John hit the gas and headed for his preplanned destination. He said, “I will have to eventually. You’re meds are there.”

“Come on dad, you know you can score me some more,” Dean begged. “Let’s just go hunting.” 

“Not going to happen yet,” John said gently. “Let me see how you’re doing.”

John knew from his conversation with Bobby that Dean had been hiding the pain in his leg and his bruises, that he had pneumonia and was giving them a hard time about staying still for his IVs, along with not being able to eat. Bobby had also told him that Dean had been feigning sleep to get out of his tube feedings. He looked over Dean, his skin was pale but red from the cold harsh wind. John knew that under the baggy hoodie, Dean’s muscle had wasted. He wouldn’t be able to hunt for a while, even after they got his leg fixed up. He sighed and kicked his own ass for not getting involved sooner. 

“Where are we headed,” Dean asked as John made the turn onto a small dirt road. The truck bounced along the snow covering the road. John drove them past a small church and parked nearby. 

“Come on,” John said as he opened his truck door. 

Dean shivered as they walked through a small snow dusted cemetery. “You on a job,” Dean asked through a cough. 

“No,” John said. “Just making a quick stop.”

Dean gave John a curious look before taking time to gaze around the cemetery. He didn’t recognize any of the names on the headstones, wondering why it was that John was making a pilgrimage to a small Tennessee cemetery. 

He followed John across the cemetery, John walking with purpose and direction. He knew where he was headed, his feet never faltered in the maze of headstones. They paused in front of a small iron gate; a wrought iron fence mapped out a small square, separating four graves from the rest. John pushed the gate open and walked into the small square of snow covered earth. Dean followed him, wondering who his dad knew from around here. 

John leaned down and brushed the snow from the first headstone, which was smooth from age. The name Peter Hilty was barely visible. 

Dean didn’t have to ask, John just started offered. “This is Alice’s husband. He helped to establish the Amish community here. He was just a man, married to a young woman when he first encountered the supernatural. He came across a being who cursed him and his young wife to walk the earth forever. Peter wasn’t a hunter, he was a farmer; a superstitious, religious man. He decided that the ‘evil’ inside him was too much to bare. He killed himself. Before he did, he told Alice she would have to do the same, that they were an abomination and deserved to be punished.”

Dean didn’t say anything, staring at the tombstone. 

“Alice obviously didn’t, but not because she felt differently. She was pregnant at the time her husband killed himself and she didn’t want to kill their child. She decided she would wait until after it had been born,” John explained as he wiped the snow off of the second tombstone, the name Alice Hilty worn smooth in the dark stone. “She decided that before she would die, that she wanted to kill the being that cursed her family. She did it, on her own with a baby on her hip; over sixty years ago with no training or real understanding of the supernatural. She educated herself; while she did, she found peace. She found forgiveness, not for the supernatural, but for herself. She strived to turn her life as a victim into a life of worth.”

John kneeled down at the third tombstone, a small one and brushed the snow away to reveal the name Joseph Hilty. 

Dean shivered, the sky starting to darken. John kept talking. “Her son died when he was about your age; apparently the curse to walk the earth forever didn’t pass down to him. She experienced her most out of control first phoenix fire the day after he died, she burned her own house down.”

John turned to Dean and looked him in the eye and asked, “You are not the only person, the only hunter, the only man who has been a victim. Unlike a lot of them, you were saved from the thing that hurt you. If you can’t see that you are capable of being who you once were, maybe even stronger for it, then you’re victimizing yourself. I’m not saying you have to get over it right away, it would probably be better that you don’t. Your body is telling you what you can and can’t tolerate, you need to listen; but ask yourself-are you not able to eat because your body can’t tolerate it? Or because you, Dean Winchester, are unable to think you should be allowed to?”

Dean stood hunched in the wind, looking at the headstones. He nodded to the fourth and asked, “Who is buried there?”

John sighed and wiped the snow off of the new headstone. It only had a single name, Dean. 

Dean stepped back, surprised. He looked up at John questioningly and asked, “What the hell?

John walked over to him and leaned against the fence. “When Alice heard you had gone missing, she dropped a few cases and started searching for you. She had already been tracking Wendigo out in this area, she knew the unlikelihood that anyone could find you. And even if she had been able to, she had no way of getting the Wendigo out of you. When she saw you in the woods, she figured there was no way to save you. She loved you and Sam, she had always told me to give up the hunt. She offered to keep you two anytime I was in this area. Anyways, she had this made for you, next to her own son. She had tried to call me and find me to let me know how serious it was,” John said. “She didn’t want you to be some monster buried in the woods in some shallow grave. You’re human and deserve to be treated like one.”

John watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, Dean coughing occasionally. “I need to take you back, Dean” John said, almost apologetically. “Let’s go.”

Dean shuffled his feet before following his dad back to the pickup truck. “Hey, dad,” Dean asked. “Why does Alice hate you?”

John chuckled as they climbed into the truck and he turned the heater on full blast. “I won’t get into the old stuff. I stole something from her a few years ago, something she wanted very badly,” John admitted. 

“Like what,” Dean asked tiredly. The heat in the truck was hypnotic, his head bobbing on his shoulders. 

John sighed and gave said, “When her husband killed himself, he shot himself. He had put two bullets in the gun. The second one is still in the chamber. It was meant for Alice.”

“That’s messed up,” Dean said with a yawn. “Why did you take it?”

“I can’t really say, honestly, I was beyond drunk when I took it,” John said. “But I refused to give it back to her for the longest time. I know she’s lonely out here, I guess I always worried she was just waiting for the right day to pull the trigger.”

Dean nodded tiredly, wondering how mad Alice would be when John dropped him off. 

Dean woke as John slammed the truck door, he gazed out at Alice’s house. He sighed deeply and pushed the heavy door open, sliding out of the truck. The cold cut right through him and he began to hobble across the yard. John followed a step behind, waving as Alice and Bobby stepped out on the porch. Dean didn’t say anything as he pushed past them and headed for his room. He was exhausted, the act of breathing hard to do. 

He woke to the sound of John, Bobby, and Alice talking in the kitchen. He listened as John walked down the hallway and into his room. He opened his eyes as John picked up the IV line and reconnected the line. “You keep this going,” John said sternly. “Do whatever you have to get back on track. I’ve got to head out of town for a bit, you call me if anything happens or you have any problems.”

“They killed the Impala,” Dean mumbled, his mind fuzzy from sleep. 

John chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “If they really had, you’d be crying right now.”


	29. Whiskey, the Hunger Maker

Hours later, John was headed away from his boys, the cold, and his decade long standoff with Alice. He had a job lined up in Florida, he had debated pawning it out on someone else, but he knew that someone would call him if Dean needed him. He wanted to keep working, constantly wondering if the next job would bring him closer to the demon that had killed his wife. He glanced in the rearview mirror, the lights from Alice’s house burning brightly. He had written down his number and left it with Bobby; they could call him if they needed to. He needed to keep working. 

Sam, Garth, and Jim had returned only an hour ago, giving John an opportunity to meet the young men who had helped to find Alice, Dean, and the Manitou. As Sam watched John’s taillights disappear, he couldn’t help but be a little angry. He knew John was driven to work, and deep down he knew that the longer he and John were forced to share close quarters it was more likely that they would want to kill each other. That would have been the last thing Dean needed to hear or see. Sam walked to the bedroom and checked on Dean, he had been deep asleep since Sam had gotten back to the house. He watched from the doorway; Dean was restless, his arms and legs twitching as he tossed his head back and forth. He coughed occasionally, making Sam angry at Dean for choosing to spend time out in the snow and wind. Sam walked into the room and laid a hand on Dean’s forehead, an act that would have earned him a swat on a normal day. Dean’s head was hot, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Sam sighed and got a wet washcloth, gently wiping his face. Dean didn’t even open his eyes, just rolled away from the cold cloth; putting his back towards Sam. 

Bobby watched as Sam walked into the kitchen, making a beeline for Jim. “He’s fevered again,” Sam said. “Is he getting any better?”

Jim sat back from the card game he and Garth had started. “It doesn’t help that he keeps going outside. The wind and snow are not the conditions he needs right now. If it was anybody else, I would have dragged them to a hospital by now, if only because they have the staff to enforce a treatment plan,” Jim explained. “No hospital will be able to take into consideration what he’s been through; they will more than likely make him worse psychologically.”

“What do you mean ‘enforce’, like making him stay in bed and forcing him to take his meds,” Sam asked. 

“I was referring to the fact that a hospital has non-stop staff,” Jim said. “I’m not suggesting we treat him against his will.”

Sam sat down and folded his hands in front of him. “Could we,” Sam asked sternly. 

“Sam, that is some territory you don’t want to go down,” Bobby warned. “You start that; he’ll lose trust in you, in all of us. That won’t help him in the long run.”

“Bobby, we have to do something. He won’t even stay still long enough to finish a single bag of the antibiotics, when’s the last time anyone but him got a look at his stitches,” Sam stated. “He’s got bruises he hasn’t let anyone see. We need to do something.”

“You already did,” a voice said from the hallway. Everyone turned and looked at Dean, his fevered, shaking form standing in the dim hallway. He was holding the doorframe with one hand, his stance casual but Sam knew that without holding on, he would have been on the floor. “You found me. It’s just too bad I was so broken. Humpty dumpty, right?”

Sam looked at Bobby, exchanging a look of confusion. “Dean, how you feeling man,” Jim called out. “You look a little wobbly.”

Dean was in fact wavering on his feet, his eyes closing and opening slowly, trying to focus on Jim from across the room. “My room is to hot,” Dean complained. “I thought I’d step outside and cool off for a bit.”

“It’s a little to cold for a trip outside right now Dean,” Sam said, trying to deter Dean but not wanting to make his stubbornness kick in full force. “Maybe later.”

“It’ll just take a second,” Dean argued, he tried to take a step towards the door, his legs shaking. 

“Dean, there’s a pack of mutated ants outside, big as cars, we’re waiting til morning to go kill them,” Alice said plainly without looking up from the journal she was writing in. “Sit tight buddy.”

Dean looked from Alice to Sam and nodded slowly, his face fearful. “Fine, guess I’ll go back to bed.”

As they heard Dean shuffling down the hallway, everyone turned and looked at Alice. Bobby gave her a look of bewilderment and said, “What the hell was that about?”

“He’s obviously delirious,” Alice said without looking up. “Fever’s on the rise. As a kid he was scared of ants, something about getting covered in them once when Sam filled his bed with candy wrappers, figured maybe that would get his mind off of going outside. It worked what more do you want?”

Jim walked into the Dean’s room, Sam trailing behind him. Dean was sitting up in the bed, the pillows on the floor and the blankets pulled up over his head. “Dean, what are you doing,” Sam asked as he peeked under the blankets. Dean put a finger to his lips, motioning him to be quiet and whispered, “Ants.”

Jim caught Sam’s eye and motioned toward the bathroom. Jim began to fill the bathtub with lukewarm water, hoping that a bath would help to lower Dean’s temperature. Sam nudged Dean into the bathroom, Dean still complaining about the giant mutant ants. 

“I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” Jim said. “I want to check my bag for something for Dean.” 

Sam nodded and turned back to Dean, trying to get him stripped down to his boxers for a long soak in the bathtub. Five minutes and two soaking wet towels later, Dean was sitting in the tub shivering slightly. Sam sat on the floor and used a small cup to pour water on him shoulders. 

“Sam, why are you doing this,” Dean asked with his eyes closed, the water hypnotically rolling down his warm skin. 

“You’re fevered and it’s cooking your brain,” Sam explained as he poured more water onto Dean’s back. 

“How does this help with our ant infestation,” Dean asked, puzzled. 

“It doesn’t really, but they can’t get in. Besides, they don’t like baths so you’re safe at least,” Sam said with a grin. He had rarely seen Dean experience delirium with such an aloof attitude. It was typically depressing, Dean only ever talking about the horrors they had seen. 

They sat for an hour, Dean with his eyes closed while Sam poured water over him. Sam wondered if Dean had fallen asleep sitting in the tub when Dean suddenly asked, “Sam, why are you doing this?”

“It doesn’t matter Dean, the mutated ants can’t get in,” Sam said tiredly. 

“What are you talking about,” Dean asked, sneaking a peek at Sam. “What mutated ants?”

Sam laughed and set the cup down. “Never mind, you were burning up so Jim and I got you in the tub,” Sam explained. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Nah, I’ve been sleeping enough,” Dean said with a yawn. “Dad still around?”

Sam shook his head as wrapped a towel around Dean’s shoulders. “He left a few hours ago, said to call him if you needed anything,” Sam stated. 

Dean nodded, his face looking precariously close to disappointed. It had been months since John had been around, and although Dean enjoyed hunting away from under John’s harsh and critical eye, he had secretly hoped John would stick around for a while. 

Dean heaved himself out of the tub and grabbed the clothes Sam was holding out. “I’ll be out in a few,” Dean said, slamming the door shut between them. Sam headed for the kitchen, grabbing the feeding tube supplies and headed back into the bedroom. He had just finished laying out the sterile field when Dean stepped out of the bathroom, hesitating when he saw what Sam had in his hand. 

“I don’t even get a chance to try real food tonight, Sammy,” Dean asked, folding his arms over his chest. “That seems kind of final.”

Sam dropped his hands to his sides, surprised by Dean’s remark. “You want to eat---real, solid food,” he asked, surprise in his voice. 

Dean gave him a look that said ‘dumbass’ and said, “I want to, yeah. If I can though, that’s another story.” Dean unknowingly laid a hand on his stomach, as though anticipating the outcome.

Sam smiled and dropped the feeding tube on the bed. “Let’s go see what’s for dinner,” Sam said. “I think Garth was in charge of cooking tonight.” Sam grabbed the IV bag of antibiotics and reattached it to the central line in Dean’s hand. He held the bag out for Dean to carry, wondering if Dean remembered the conversation he interrupted in the kitchen earlier. 

“You think he can cook,” Dean asked with a cough. “He doesn’t look like the domestic type.”

Sam laughed and remarked, “I swear he eats nonstop, but he just stays the same. Let’s hope he can cook, no one delivers out here.”

They sat at the table, Bobby giving Dean a look of surprise. “Don’t stare so hard Bobby, you might break something,” Dean snarked with a smirk. 

Bobby grinned and went back to watching Garth scramble around the kitchen. “What are you making Garth,” Bobby asked. “You reputation is on the line.”

Garth smiled, adjusting his floral apron and proudly said, “Burgers and fries. Make that awesome burgers and fries. ”

Dean whistled and said, “I’ll be the judge of what’s awesome around here.”

They gathered around the table and waited as Garth loaded plates and passed them around. Dean felt himself tense up as he looked at the huge amount of food Garth had piled on his plate. He felt the lump swell in his throat and his stomach flip flop. He caught Alice looking at him, her face concerned. He caught himself staring at her red hair, for a second he recognized her; a forgotten face from years ago. She locked eyes with him, questioningly as though she knew he was starting to remember her. He turned his attention back to the plate in front of him, wondering if it was a good idea. He wanted to prove to everyone, even himself, that he could do it. He took a glance around the table; everyone was eating, Jim and Garth talking about the snow storm heading in, Bobby and Alice talking about supplies. He picked up a french fry and slowly began to chew it; he remembered the salt and grease, all of the road side diners he, John and Sam had eaten in over the years. French fries were a good thing, a familiar thing. He swallowed it, the fry slowly sliding past the lump in the back of his throat. He noticed the corner of Sam’s mouth tug into a small grin, trying to not directly stare as Dean began the slow process of dinner. Thirty minutes later, Dean had eaten six french fries, ignoring the large burger in front of him. Sam had already devoured two of his own and after watching Dean stare down the burger in front of him like it was Mount Everest, Sam took a knife to it; leaving a quarter of it on Dean’s plate. He noticed the frown on Dean’s face as he watched Sam lift the burger from the plate. 

“I was going to eat that, bitch,” Dean mumbled grumpily, even as he gave Sam a look of relief. 

“Sure you were, jerk,” Sam stated as he bit obnoxiously into the burger. “You can have the next one.”

Dean scowled as he picked at the small piece of burger. He knew he needed to at least try to eat it, he carefully picked it up and tried to keep from smelling it, he could tell that Garth had made them slightly rare, a tinge of pink on the plate. 

He felt his stomach twist as he sank his teeth into the small piece of burger, everyone suddenly looking at him. He felt himself begin to panic and glared at everyone, leaving no one unscathed. Everyone turned back to their own meals, the silence unsettling. Dean fought to swallow a small bite, the lump in his throat making him choke and gag. He looked around the table and grabbed the nearest glass, Bobby’s. He was surprised when he got a large mouthful of whiskey; he choked as the warmth traveled through his chest, his throat burning. He continued to choke and sputter, taking a second mouthful of Bobby’s whiskey, surprised when he realized that the burger had gone down and not come straight back up. He smiled in triumph and glanced around the table. Sam and Jim were exchanging a look of relief, Alice and Garth were smiling into their own plates, while Bobby proceeded to smack his hand and slide his glass back across the table.

“Idjit,” Bobby said with a pleased grin. “The last thing you’re getting is my whiskey. Sam, get your brother some water or something.”

Sam jumped up and got Dean a glass of water, he sipped it for a few minutes, the water cold and sweet. He felt the whiskey continue to warm him throughout, he felt himself relax, his vision blurring; he wondered if he could actually get drunk off of what he would have normally considered a small amount. Sam was sitting across the table, wondering the same thing. He knew that Dean shouldn’t have any alcohol, rule number one of taking antibiotics. Sam watched as Dean slowly chewed his way through another french fry while trying to pay attention to the multiple conversations going on around the table. Dean was slumping in the chair when he motioned to Jim and asked, “So how about it, doc? You think I need the tube tonight?”

Jim looked at Sam briefly before turning to Dean. He looked at Dean’s plate and grimaced. 

“Give it to me straight, you were hoping for more carrot food, right?” Dean said, his head starting to nod slightly. “I can take it, just don’t make Sammy cry.” Dean gave a not-so-subtle wink to Jim, motioning to Sam. 

Jim laughed lightly and said, “You did really good actually, although you are right-I was hoping for more of the rabbit food. If you’re not against it, I think we still need to do the tube. But you’re making progress.”

“Good, cause I want my car keys at some point,” Dean mumbled as he laid his head on the table, nearly landing on a fork. Bobby chuckled as they watched Dean’s eyes slip closed momentarily before his head shot back up and he said, “I can hot wire it, I just need the distributor cap back.”

Sam smirked and shook Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep Dean. We still need to get your tube done for the night,” Sam said. “Let’s get you in to bed.”

Dean cracked an eye open and asked, “Night cap?”

“Nope, just pillows, pajamas, and a feeding tube,” Sam said as he slipped a hand under Dean’s arm. Jim followed behind slowly and carried the IV bag as Sam led a wobbly Dean back to his room, each man wondering if Dean would stay awake for the feeding to be completed. Sam arranged Dean in an upright sitting position, head tilted back. 

“Dean, if you fall asleep, I’d like to keep the feeding going until it’s done. Are you okay with that,” Jim asked as he coated the tube with the numbing gel. “I can pull the tube out when it’s done.”

“Fine,” Dean said with a yawn. “Just watch where you stick that thing.”

Sam grimaced as he watched Jim slide the tube down Dean’s nose, although Dean seemed to either not notice or care. They watched as the gravity flow feed started, Jim watching the clock. “Sam, try to talk to him and keep him awake would you,” Jim asked. “It’s not a huge deal if he falls asleep, but it would be easier to pull the tube while he’s awake.”

“So, how was your chat with dad,” Sam asked. Dean rolled his eyes and pointed to his nose. “Oh, right, one sided conversation. Sorry.”

“Well, ummm……Garth is looking into a local job to do, with the snow storm going on I thought Jim and I might go along and help out. Give Jim a chance to see what hunting’s all about,” Sam said. “Alice is still moping about her red hair, she tried to dye it and it didn’t work. Bobby has got a friend working the salvage yard right now, that’s running smoothly for the moment. That’s about it.” 

Dean nodded and started to unbutton his shirt, motioning to his stitches. Sam glanced at them and asked, “They starting to itch?”

Dean rolled his eyes and motioned with his hands, using his fingers like scissors. “You want them out,” Sam asked. “I guess we can take them out, right Jim?”

Jim nodded, adjusting the IV line. He tossed Sam a removal kit and grinned. “I was thinking the same thing earlier,” Jim said. 

Sam began the process of slowly clipping the nylon thread Bobby and Garth had put in and used the tweezers to pull them out. He lost count somewhere after twenty-two. Dean’s eyes kept drooping, Sam occasionally talking about his trips through the Amish community and into the nearby towns. Sam and Jim watched as Dean slipped into sleep, the bag only half empty. Sam cleaned Dean’s chest, taping a gauze pad in place to protect the still sensitive skin. 

“Want to check his bruises,” Jim asked. “I’m pretty sure he’s more than sleeping, I think he’s passed out. His alcohol tolerance has probably hit rock bottom.”

Sam chuckled at the thought that Dean could actually get drunk, he had rarely seen his older brother get drunk; he was always on high alert, only allowing himself to get really drunk while John was around to keep any eye on Sam. 

“I checked him over in the tub, He’s got a few bruises on his right shoulder and hip, probably from his fall on the steps when he tried to make a run for it,” Sam stated. “Nothing we can do about them but wait. What about his leg? He told Bobby it was keeping him awake.”

Jim nodded and said, “He can have some anti-inflammatories if he needs them. I doubt he’ll need them tonight though. The whiskey provided a cheap pain killer for the night.”

An hour later, Sam watched as Jim slowly slid the tube of out Dean’s nose, trying to not wake him up. Jim smiled as the tube pulled free and he quickly vacated the room, heading for his own bed. Sam was just about to flip out the lamp when Dean caught his hand and said, “Leave it on Sam.” 

Sam pulled his hand back, puzzled. Dean hadn’t ever been afraid of the dark, even as kids he had preferred it for sneaking around in. “Alright,” Sam said. “You need anything?”

“You think dad’s coming back,” Dean asked without opening his eyes. 

“Of course he is,” Sam said, surprised that Dean would even ask. Dean had always glorified John’s skills as a hunter. “You think he needed help on his job?”

“What? No,” Dean said as though it had been a stupid thing to even think, much less say. “I mean do you think dad will come back here, to Alice’s?”

“Why wouldn’t he,” Sam asked, wondering if he had missed something. 

“I’m pretty sure he and Alice had some wild times back in the day,” Dean said as he rolled over, yanking the IV line as he did. “Dad stole Alice’s dead husband’s gun to keep her from killing herself. Said he thought she was lonely out here by herself. I bet he’ll stop back by.”

Sam stared at Dean’s back and asked, “Where did you two go today?”

“Cemetery,” Dean mumbled tiredly. 

“He took you on a job,” Sam asked angrily. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Sammy, he was off the clock,” Dean said curtly. “He was showing me something that he thought I needed to see.”

“And,” Sam said, waiting for Dean to elaborate. 

“And I saw it, he was right,” Dean said with a yawn. “I needed to see it.”

Sam turned to leave the room, pausing as Dean called out to him. “Tell Garth that was a kick ass burger,” Dean said sleepily. “And tell Alice, if she ever mentions those ants again, I’ll pour sugar in her gas tank.”


	30. Panic Room Dress Code

Alice woke with a pit in her stomach, she needed to get moving; she always felt restless after the fire. She dressed quickly, leaving her long hair down and grabbing her rifle, more from habit than danger. She headed to the barn, leaving a deep trail through the ever falling snow. After her phoenix erupted, she always hit the road for a few months each time spending more and more time trying to determine how to better use her everlasting years to help the few hunters she cared for and the even fewer she tolerated. She had already pulled her truck into the barn, cleaned it out, and emptied the tank. She pulled the tarp off the vintage motorcycle she had recently restored and stared at it. This time, she planned to drive out West, maybe check in and see Bobby’s notorious library before heading up into Canada. She sighed as she pulled the tarp back over the bike, she would have to wait for the snow to let up. 

She walked back to the house, shivering as she went. She heard the howl of coyote nearby and wondered briefly how John’s werewolf hunt was going in Florida; it was supposed to be a quick and painless job. She had wanted to ask for a ride out of town, away from her dreary house and secluded life. She knew that once Dean was on his feet, everyone would be headed back out, leaving her alone again. She wanted to leave, not be left this time. 

She kicked her boots off and walked softly into the kitchen, opening the fridge door and pulling out the bottle of vodka she had hidden in the vegetable drawer. As she turned around, the bottle to her lips, she spotted a figure sitting as her table. She choked on the bitter alcohol and pulled the fridge back open, the light illuminating Dean’s pale face. She snorted and let the fridge fall shut. She sat down across from him, lighting the oil lamp between them. She could tell he had been awake for a while, he looked alert and rested. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Dean asked, “I remember the red hair. It was curly then. You hated it.”

Alice nodded as she toyed with the cap from the bottle in her hand. “Still do,” she said. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I heard the front door open and close, figured you were up,” Dean lied. “I’m kind of surprised you’re still around. I know phoenixes always get the traveling itch when they change.” 

“Some do,” Alice remarked. “Not all of us.”

Dean looked at the bottle in her hand and reached for it, taking a small swig, making a face at the bitterness. “My dad took me to the cemetery,” Dean stated firmly. “I saw the headstone.”

Alice held her hand out for the bottle, her face impassive as she said, “Oh? Well, I guess that means John told you about my own history. Keep in mind, I was human and both Bobby and John have vouched for me.” 

“I’m not that black and white on your kind of situation,” Dean said with a flip of his hand. “I have been before. You’ve helped me, Sam, Bobby, dad… everyone I care about. That makes you an exception.”

“I appreciate that,” Alice said as she sipped from the bottle again. “But is that what you crawled out of bed for at three in the morning?”

“Not really,” Dean said, ducking his head down. “I wanted to say thanks, for everything. I read your Wendigo journal and notes on me…I know you were planning to kill me. I would have done the same thing…Thanks for giving Sam time to come up with a cure.”

Alice stared at him, the bottle held loosely in her hand. “Do you remember staying here as a kid,” Alice asked suddenly. 

“Some things,” Dean said. “Not a lot. I remember you taking Sam to the hospital. I remember going to a public school nearby, you had to drive me every day because the bus didn’t come into the Amish community.”

“Yep, I remember Sam crying every time John dropped you two off, you always holding back tears but never letting them fall,” Alice said with a small sad smile, reminiscing. 

“I dreamed about the cemetery,” Dean said, suddenly serious. “I dreamed I was there, as a kid, Sammy holding my hand and bawling. You were there, talking to someone.”

Alice looked at him curiously and nodded. “That happened,” Alice said. “I was talking to your dad. It was the first time he came and dropped you off. He was in a hurry and found me at the cemetery. I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Do you and my dad have a thing going? Is that why he didn’t stay here with us,” Dean asked as he held his hand out for the bottle. She raised one eyebrow and motioned to the dangling central line in his hand, shaking her head disapprovingly. 

“Subtle is not your style, is it Dean,” Alice asked. “Sam hasn’t even gotten the nerve up to ask me that, and we’ve been working side by side for weeks on your case. If you want to know if we ever had a relationship, then the answer would be no.”

“And if I wanted to know if you two ever had a meaningless fling,” Dean stated. “What would the answer be?”

Alice rolled the bottle in her hands, watching the liquid swirl around.

“Then the answer would be sort of,” she said with a softened face. “We’ve never had the ‘flowers and wine’ thing going on. I think we’re both far past that point in our lives and to be honest, in another world and another time, we would have never crossed paths or given each other a second glance. We both suffered losses, had our spouses—our lovers and best friends—snatched away from us. We were both in bad places, needed someone to hold on to. I hate to use the word convenient, but…”

Alice looked up at him, her face guarded. She wondered if he was going to react the way she had always imagined he would, angrily. Better than her expectation of Sam though, she imagined he would somehow feel betrayed or that she was interfering. She watched him consider the words she had just laid out for him. 

He slowly nodded and asked, “So when he stole the gun from you, the one your husband left loaded for you?”

“John knew about the gun,” Alice said with a nod. “A little over ten years ago, he stopped through here. He realized that I was ready; I had finally decided it was time. I had withdrawn completely and although he’d never admit it, I think Abraham called him. Either way, John stopped by unannounced with a bottle of Jack. When I woke up, he already had a hundred mile head start on me. I tried everything to find him and that damned gun.”

“So what happened,” Dean asked as he fiddled with his IV line. 

“I got over it,” Alice said with a shrug. “Not being angry at your dad, of course; he took away a choice that was meant for me. I was able to stop being mad about everything else. I may have a headstone, but I’m not ready to use it yet.”

Dean smiled and said, “Same here.”

“You’re going good, it’s been what? Two days of soft foods and steady tube feedings without any vomiting,” Alice said, saluting him with the bottle. “You should feel good about it.”

Dean stared at the lamp between them, the flame mesmerizing. “I dream all the time, about running through the woods, the copper taste in my mouth as I tear into them, it’s still all so real. But I want to eat, take my meds, and get all these goddamn tubes out of me,” Dean said plainly, honestly. “I want Sam to stop giving me that pitying look.”

Alice nodded and said, “One day, a long time from now, you’ll stop having those dreams. In the meantime, you do what up you can; kill all the supernatural fuglies you can and save as many people as you can. It’s a hard line to walk once you’ve crossed it, I should know. You will always second guess yourself, under estimate yourself. You just have to push yourself to be better than the old version of you. It’s not easy, but you’re a lot like your dad; you’ll do alright.”

Dean and Alice sat at the table, talking about John’s werewolf hunt; they didn’t see Sam standing in the hallway, watching them. 

Sam stood in the dark, wondering how many nights Dean had crept past his door to wander the house. From Dean’s statement to Alice, he figured it had happened quite regularly. The notes on Dean’s Wendigo activity were extensive and hadn’t left the kitchen weeks. It would have taken hours for Dean to have read through them all. 

Sam walked back into his own room and crept past the ever snoring Garth. As he lay back down he wondered why John had never mentioned Alice. John had never admitted to having relationships of any kind, not since Mary had died. Sam felt his face getting red as his anger at John ignited, while wondering why he was even getting upset. It’s not like Dean, or even Sam, had turned away from the few, random intimacies their life afforded them. 

Sam watched as Dean slipped past the doorway, his steps perfectly silent as he crept down the hallway. Sam wasn’t going to miss the chance to talk to Alice; he slipped back out of bed and headed for the kitchen, running into Alice in the dark. 

“Sam,” Alice asked as she tried to relight the lamp. “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged and sat down. “I thought I heard people out here,” he lied. “Thought I’d make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah, I was just up checking the house,” Alice lied. She sat down across from him, inwardly groaning. A talk with Dean was similar to a talk with John, minus the sheer distain they held for each other. A talk with Sam…that was painful. He was sensitive in ways most hunters had previously shrugged off. She settled into the chair and waited for him to start. 

“What’s this I hear about headstones,” Sam asked. 

“And I thought you were the subtle one of the Winchester men,” Alice said tiredly. “I don’t really want to talk about it Sam, I don’t want to upset you.”

Sam frowned and said, “Why didn’t you ever contact us? I mean, you obviously knew about us, we stayed here with you as kids. Why are you helping us now, when you have such a problem with our dad?”

Alice straightened up in her chair; suddenly feeling scrutinized. “I tried to find your dad for ten years and you want to know why you weren’t at the top of my Christmas card list,” she exclaimed, her annoyance and disbelief visible on her face. “We’re hunters, all of us. That makes us family in my book. Your dad and I may have our disagreements, but I would have helped long before now if I had known you needed it.”

Alice stormed out of the kitchen, refusing to look back at the youngest Winchester. She settled on the cot in the panic room and sighed deeply. She knew having them back in her life was going to be a bitch, Sam obviously needed an ass kicking and Dean…well, Dean seemed to be busy kicking his own ass. She had just fallen asleep when her cellphone went off. She struggled to get it out of her jacket pocket. She groaned when she saw the name flashing across the screen---John W. 

“What do you want,” she snarled into the phone. “You have any idea what time it is?”

“Not really,” John said. His exhaustion was obvious, even through the slight static. “How is Dean?”

“If you called for a progress report at four thirty in the morning, I won’t hesitate to shoot you next time you show up on my doorstep,” Alice said angrily, trying to stifle a yawn. 

“Well, you’ll have your chance in about ten minutes,” John said. “I was going to stay in a motel for the night, but every motel is full on account of the snow storms. You got room for one more?”

Alice rubbed a hand over her tired face, wondering at the likelihood of having all three Winchester men under her roof and NOT having something go terribly wrong. 

“My house, my rules,” she said sternly. “No interference, even with your boys.” 

John sighed, she could almost hear his eyes roll as he ground out, “Yes, ma’am” before hanging up. 

Alice sighed and shook her head before kicking her quilt off. She slid her feet back into her boots and trudged back upstairs, flipping the porch light on. She stood on the steps and watched as his headlights slowly made their way down the snow covered road. He was lucky he had a truck, the Impala had long disappeared under the thick layer of snow. Alice turned suspicious as he nearly ran into the post at the end of the driveway and then made a very long, awkward job of parking. She watched as he slowly limped across the yard, obviously leaning to one side and holding his arm. 

“So when you asked if you could stop in, what you meant was could you stop in so I could patch you up,” Alice said grimly. 

“I already patched myself up as good as I could,” John said with a tired shrug. “Damn werewolves. I just need a place to lay low and get some sleep.”

“That I can do,” Alice said as she opened the front door. “All the beds up here are full; you and I get the panic room.”

“You’re sleeping down there too,” John asked, surprised. “I never thought the day would come where you would choose a cot over a real bed.”

“Dean still needs some privacy and it’s to cold down there for him,” Alice said. “I carried a space heater down earlier, it’s not as icy as it was earlier.”

As Alice led the way down the steps, John quietly remarked, “I see you burned already, how was it?”

As Alice pulled the door open to the panic room she turned and gave him a hard look. “It was fantastic, John. Just a swell time, having my entire body engulfed in flame and burned down to dust, only to have it rebuilt over several excruciating hours, everyone should try it,” she stated sarcastically. 

“That’s not what I meant,” John said, gripping his shoulder. 

“I know…sorry,” Alice said. “I hate it. And talking about it doesn’t help.”

“Good,” John said as he walked into the room. “Cause I’m exhausted and want to sleep, this isn’t some slumber party.”

John paused in the panic room, the single bulb swinging overhead. 

“You have two panic rooms, right,” John asked, looking at the two cots in the room. 

“The other one is locked up tight with everyone’s guns and other weapons,” Alice said. “I have no desire to huff gun oil all night. And you’re not getting in there; I want to be able to close both eyes when I sleep tonight. Hand over whatever it is you didn’t leave in the truck. I’ll lock it up with the others.”

John looked at her like she had suddenly sprouted fangs. “You expect me to sleep in the same room as you, unarmed,” John stated defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yes or you can sleep in your freezing truck. You want a frost bitten ass, you know where the door is,” Alice said as she held out her hand. “My house, my rules; you agreed earlier.”

John grimaced and dug into the multiple layers he was wearing before handing her his desert eagle. She raised an eyebrow and motioned with the other hand. He snorted lightly and handed her the smaller pistol she knew he had carried years ago. She tilted her head slightly and glared. He glared back before saying, “You’re serious?”

Alice walked across the room and picked up a box, setting it on the cot. She set the two guns inside, removing the clips first. “Very,” she said. “Strip down.”

John sighed and tossed his coat on the cot, she picked it up and dug through the pockets; adding two knives, a flask of holy water, a lighter, and an extra clip to the box. She realized he was standing there, watching carefully as she assembled his arsenal in the box. 

“Did I tell you to stop,” she said with a smirk. She had always enjoyed making John uncomfortable, an easy thing to do to a man who was always distrustful.

He blushed and fought to unbutton his shirt, his injured shoulder making it difficult. She waited with her arms folded and tapped her unlaced boot on the concrete floor. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” John snarked. “Is the fact that my ‘injury’ is slowing down your ridiculous decision to lock up ALL the weapons so you can sleep easier, getting in the way of your goddamn sleep?”

“Between Dean, Sam, and now you, I’ll be lucky to get any sleep tonight. Everyone is being so chatty all of a sudden,” Alice muttered as he handed her his shirt, his bandaged shoulder coming into view. She turned the shirt inside out, pulling out the Swiss army knife that was sewn inside, she gave him a distasteful stare when she came across the vials of dead man’s blood. He shrugged and said, “That it?”

“Nope,” she replied. “You’re halfway there though.” 

He stared her dead in the eye as he kicked off his boots and started to unbutton his jeans. She casually stooped to pick up the boots, slipping her hand in each of the boots. A small, hard plastic knife and a small plastic bag of salt got tossed into the box. She cleared her throat and held out her hand, motioning to the jeans he seemed reluctant to hand over. She snatched them from his hands and dug into the pockets. A few loose silver rounds got tossed into the box, followed by a stained set of brass knuckles. He stood there, arms crossed, waiting. 

“Socks,” she said as she stared at him, the smirk returning. 

“Goddammit, Alice,” John muttered as he tossed his socks on the cot. She felt inside the socks and pulled out a small key. She turned it over in her hand before asking, “Handcuff key?”

“Yes, Alice, now if you wouldn’t mind, it’s freezing in here,” John said sternly. “Toss me my pants.”

Alice folded his clothes and tossed them into the box before picking it up and caring it across the hallway to the other panic room. John stood and watched helplessly as she walked back into the room empty handed. She walked across the room and opened up a small box and carried it over to him. “Let me see your shoulder,” she said. 

“Why,” he asked defensively, shivering in the cold air.

“Because you have blood running down your back and I don’t want you bleeding to death down here or getting my cot all gross,” Alice said as she picked up a handful of gauze. 

John sighed and sat down on the cot, his back to her. She ripped the poorly taped bandage off, making him gasp and tense up. 

“Could you possibly be any less careful,” John mumbled tiredly. She wiped the fresh blood away and asked, “Who put these stitches in? They look like shit.” 

“I couldn’t reach, paid some retired vet to put them in,” John said with a gasp as she touched one of them. 

“Looks like a blind, one handed, sadistic clown put these in,” Alice muttered. “If you actually paid someone for this, you got robbed.”

“Can you just tape it back up please? I’d love some sleep right about now,” John argued. 

“Lay down if you want, but I need to re-stitch this,” Alice said. “You’re bleeding like a gutted pig.”

John inwardly groaned, wondering if maybe he could just survive the freezing cold of his truck. “The last thing I want is you digging in my shoulder with a needle,” he said as he tried to carefully lower himself onto the cot, face down. Alice dragged her own cot closer and proceeded to clean the blood away. She doused her hands in rubbing alcohol and pulled out the nylon thread and needle. She quickly removed the old stitches and started to replace them with her own neat stitches. She felt him relax as she moved quickly, gently through the motions they had become accustomed to. 

“What you said earlier, about the boys talking to you,” John said. “What did they want to know about?”

“About if we’re sleeping together,” Alice said as she smeared antibiotic ointment over the line of stitches. She waited for a reaction, surprised as he laid still and asked, “Who asked first?”

“Dean, which surprised me,” Alice admitted. “Sam was more upset that I didn’t…hunt you all down I guess.”

“Huh,” John said as Alice taped a clean piece of gauze over the wound. “I would have guessed that Sam would have figured it out first.”

“What did you tell Dean,” John asked curiously. He had never crossed that line with his sons, never joining in any of the crude conversations regarding meeting women in their line of work. He wasn’t about to let his sons put Alice in that group. 

“The truth, you and I, we were both hurting and lonely,” Alice said as she rinsed her hands in the last of the alcohol before tossing the first aid box on the floor. “It’s nearly six in the morning. Get some sleep.”

Alice reached up and flipped out the light before crawling into her own cot. “And John,” she suddenly said, the coolness back in her voice.

“Yeah, Alice,” John said as he tried to get comfortable on the cot, wrapped up in a heavy quilt, his shoulder aching from the movement. 

“Don’t make me sorry that I let you keep your boxers,” Alice said sternly. “If I wake up dead tomorrow morning, and find that you killed me with some sort of homemade underwear bomb or something, I’ll be taking it out of your ass.”

John chuckled lightly in the dark before muttering, “Yes, ma’am.”


	31. A Toothy Junction

Bobby woke to the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house, a sound that always led to something difficult or someone in trouble. He glanced at the clock; Jim, Sam, and Garth had left out an hour ago to catch a ride out of the Amish community to check out the local job Garth had found. They weren’t due back for hours. He sighed and climbed out of his warm bed, the house cool in the early morning hours. As he walked out into the kitchen he froze, John Winchester was making coffee, shivering in nothing more than his underwear. Bobby shook his head and silently walked back to bed. John, unaware of having been seen, headed back downstairs with hopes of getting his clothes back. He knocked on the panic room door, opening it slightly. He could see Alice curled up on her own cot, her chest rising in a steady rhythm as she continued to sleep. He glanced across the hallway at the heavy door that separated him from his denim and leather covered dignity. He knew from previous experience that once locked there was no way in without the key, which only Alice had. 

He huffed in frustration, the damp cold of the panic room getting to him. Given a choice between being upstairs in plain sight and hiding out in the panic room until Alice woke up, he would chose the latter. No point in being caught with his pants down; his boys would never let him live it down. He silently walked past Alice and climbed back onto his own cot, turning to face her. He had learned long ago to never turn his back to her, certainly never when he might fall asleep. He watched her face as she slept. Some part of him realized how far she had come over the years, her sleeping face no longer pinched with nightmares, her hand no longer cradling that damned gun her husband had left for her. 

He caught himself looking at her hair, since her recent burn she looked just as she had all those years ago. He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring before he realized she was staring back at him. 

“You need something John,” she asked as she rolled over, burrowing deeper into her warm blankets. “I’m sure someone is up, Bobby at least. Shower should be free if you want.”

“Sounds good, wanna toss me the key for the other panic room,” John asked hopefully, his teeth chattering slightly. 

Alice laughed lightly and said, “Not a chance. Besides, your clothes have blood on them. You need to get cleaned up; we’re trying to avoid any setbacks for Dean.”

“What do you mean,” John asked harshly. “I thought you got the Wendigo out of him, why would blood be an issue now?”

“I didn’t say that it would be, just that we’re trying to avoid anything that might be,” she mumbled tiredly. “No blood, no rare meat, no line of sight to anything that might bring up any bad memories. Seeing you walk around with blood soaked clothes might be an issue for him.”

John nodded slowly and said, “I’ve got clothes in the truck.”

“Head for the shower, I’ll go and get your duffel bag,” Alice mumbled as she slid out her warm cocoon of blankets. Her curly, red hair swayed as she leaned over to slip her boots back on, tiredly fighting to pull her jacket back on with no luck. 

“You alright, Alice,” John asked, smiling at her un-coordination. 

She glared at him and managed to pull her jacket on. “Just exhausted from listening to you snore for the last two hours,” she snarked as she stumbled, leaving him behind. 

Dean was sitting in the kitchen when Alice trudged down the hallway, she didn’t even look up as she tiredly headed out the front door. Dean turned when he heard the cellar door open again, wondering who else was downstairs. His jaw dropped as he watched his father march down the hallway nearly nude, slipping into the bathroom; the sound of the shower unmistakable. He smirked as Alice stepped back into the house, John’s duffel bag in her hand. She didn’t look at him as she walked past, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Dean.”

Dean chuckled to himself, watching as Alice tossed the bag into the bathroom before heading for the couch. She toed her boots off, pulling her jacket over herself, before rolling over and closing her eyes. She was exhausted, through and through. 

Dean sat at the table, watching Alice’s breathing slow down and become a steady cycle; he could hear the shower still going, his dad taking presumably the longest shower of his life. As Dean flipped back through the notes he was writing for Alice’s Wendigo journal, he pushed a hand to his stomach, grimacing. He had woken up several times in the night, his nausea and indigestion increasing. He had dug through Alice’s medicine cabinet, not finding anything for his indigestion. He had tried to eat earlier, but had ended up locking himself in the bathroom afterwards, his stomach and bowels cramping miserably. 

He heard the shower turn off, John coming out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. John settled across from him at the table, refusing to acknowledge the smirk plastered on Dean’s face. 

“How you doing,” John asked, looking at his older. Dean’s face was less sunken in, his general overall appearance slightly better than when John had last seen him a few days ago. “Alice told me you’ve been eating fairly well.”

Dean shrugged and said, “Jim said we could discontinue the tube as long as I keep it up. I’m just ready to get out of this house; my car is calling to me.”

John nodded his understanding before saying, “The Impala is in deep. The snow has covered up most of the cars, we’ll have to shovel them out unless we want to all stay here until spring and I don’t think Alice is going to go for that. I’ve gotten the idea she wants to move on for a bit.”

“What do you mean,” Dean asked, lightly rubbing his aching abdomen. “She told me not all phoenixes get the traveling itch.”

“Well, then she lied,” John remarked in his determined matter a fact voice. “They all do. The longer she tries to stay put, the more run down she’ll get.”

To prove his point, John motioned to Alice’s sleeping form on the couch. “She should have left already,” he muttered. “Probably the damn snow.”

“Where is Bobby,” John asked. 

“He’s right here,” Bobby said as he walked across the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot. “I take it your werewolf hunt went better than expected. You’re back early.”

John nodded and said, “Other than a few stitches, went perfectly. Was planning on staying near town, but this snow has got every place booked.”

“Dad stayed in the panic room…with Alice,” Dean said with smirk. He wasn’t expecting Bobby’s expression to turn sour. 

“I’m surprised Alice let you stay here, much less share a room,” Bobby explained. 

“The other panic room is full of guns, she refused to let me sleep in there,” John said with shrug. He realized Bobby and Dean were both staring at him, Dean looking amused while Bobby looked displeased. 

“Nothing happened! Christ—she re-stitched my shoulder,” John ground out. “We slept—on separate cots.”

An hour later, the house had fallen silent again. Alice was still deep asleep on the couch, John had crawled in Sam’s bed and fallen asleep cradling his shoulder. Bobby sat alone at the table, reading through the notes Dean had been writing for Alice, detailing everything he could remember about his time in the Wendigo nest. It hadn’t escaped Bobby that Dean had written them without any emotion; nothing to provide any insight into how he felt about his own actions. Bobby sighed and glanced down the hallway, Dean had declared his own tiredness and had gone to his room to join in the sleeping marathon that had settled over the house. 

Bobby didn’t think anything when he first heard a few coughs from Dean’s room. Dean had still been coughing from time to time although his last dose of antibiotics had finished during the night. Bobby’s ears pricked slightly when he heard the coughing again; they died back down, letting him return to his reading. As Bobby stood to get another cup of coffee, the sound of coughing started again, followed by the sound of someone vomiting. Bobby set his cup down and headed down the hallway, he knew Dean had been pushing himself to make progress and suddenly wondered if it had been such a good idea for Jim to discontinue Dean’s IV line and feeding tube. 

Bobby didn’t bother to knock as he flung the door open; he scanned the room as he walked into it, Dean was nowhere to be seen. Bobby walked to the bathroom door and knocked, “Dean!”

Bobby could still hear Dean gagging, choking, and coughing from the bathroom. He grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, locked. Bobby called out, “Dean! Open the door, son!”

He heard Dean gasping before he managed to call out, “I can’t Bobby.”

“Move away from the door, Dean,” Bobby called out, he tried to remember the layout of the bathroom as he forced the door open; hoping Dean wasn’t close to it. The door slammed into the wall behind it, Bobby rushing into the room. Dean was sitting against the wall next to the open toilet, clutching his stomach tightly, his face pale and covered in sweat. Bobby could see the pain written on his face, his discomfort obvious. Bobby kneeled in front of him and asked, “What’s going on in here?”

“My stomach….my…whole goddamn abdomen is killing me Bobby,” Dean muttered as he continued to hold his stomach. Bobby watched helplessly as Dean’s face was awash in pain as he started to cough again. The coughing continued until Dean started to gag, his breaths ragged. 

Bobby tilted Dean’s head back and forced his mouth open. He couldn’t see anything, he used his finger to check his airway, finding nothing to account for Dean’s gagging. As Bobby pulls his finger from Dean’s mouth, he holds up in the dim light, seeing it covered in bright red blood. “What exactly are you feeling,” Bobby demanded. “Where is it coming from?”

Before Dean could speak, he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Before Bobby could get Dean maneuvered in front of the open toilet, Dean is on his hands and knees, his body rigid as he heaves. Bobby watched in horror as Dean vomits a large puddle of bright red blood on the floor between them. He looks up at Bobby, an unmistakably ‘what the hell’ looks passed between them before it starts again, this time Dean crying out and holding his stomach with one hand, using the other one to try and to hold himself up. 

“John! Alice! Get in here,” Bobby yells. John and Alice came running into the room just as Bobby got Dean leaned back up against the wall, exhaustedly holding himself up using the toilet as leverage. 

“Dean, what the hell happened,” John said as he dropped down next to Dean. He placed a hand on Dean’s forehead, Dean weakly tried to brush his hand out of the way. “He’s clammy, probably lost more blood than what we’re seeing here.”

“What the hell is this,” Alice muttered from behind him. John turned and looked at Alice; she was pointing a small chunk of something Dean had vomited up with the blood. Alice tentatively picked it up before washing it off in the sink, her expression changing from grossly curious to mortified. 

“What is it,” John demanded, his face stern. Dean tried to lean and look over John’s shoulder, his dad the only thing holding him upright. 

Alice held out her hand, the three men vying to see the small item in her hand. “It’s a tooth,” Alice said. 

John looked at the tooth in Alice’s hand before turning back to Dean. “You missing any teeth, Dean,” he asked forcefully. When Dean didn’t answer right away, John pried his mouth open and ran a finger along Dean’s teeth. “He’s not missing any. How the hell could he have vomited up a tooth?”

Seeing everyone crowding around him, Dean became fairly unhelpful; trying to hold back any sign of weakness, even as he was surrounded by a puddle of his own blood. He winced every time John attempted to probe his abdomen. John, Alice, and Bobby finally stepped back, scrutinizing the man before them. 

“Blood loss,” Alice offered up. “Tooth in the digestive tract. He’s pale, clammy, and probably even more nauseous than before. Bet he couldn’t stand on his own if you offered up a beer. Or pie.”

“He’s definitely got something in there, there’s a hard mass in his gut,” John added. “And don’t mention beer…or pie. I’m not getting him one just to let him prove you wrong.”

“Hey! How about a little privacy,” Dean mumbled, trying to wave them towards the door. The slight movements made him grab his stomach in pain. He felt the same acidic burn in his throat that had been plaguing him throughout the previously night. 

“You need to start talking, young man,” John said abruptly. “This the first time this has happened?”

“Yessir,” Dean said, looking at the blood puddle before him. 

“You feeling anything other than nausea,” John asked. “Pain anywhere? Indigestion? You better start talking so we can figure out just how bad this is.”

“It’s bad enough that he covered my bathroom floor in blood, John,” Alice said sarcastically. 

John ignored her and turned back to Dean, his face stern yet also concerned.   
“I was up last night with stomach pain, felt like heartburn but a lot worse,” Dean explained as he continued to hold his stomach protectively. “It’s just gotten worse since then, feeling like my guts are being tied up in knots.”

“I’m thinking a trip to the emergency room is in our near future,” Bobby said, pulling his cellphone out. 

“No hospitals, Bobby,” Dean called out, his face paling even further. “You can’t.”

“And why not,” Bobby asked, ignoring the look Alice and John exchanged. 

“How are you going to explain---this,” Dean asked he as motioned over himself. “I’ve got bruises everywhere, some of it obviously from an IV line, hell—the glue from the tape is still stuck to my hand. And besides, you already knocked off the hospital. We can’t go back.”

“The we part is right, but they don’t know your dad or Alice, or you,” Bobby said. “I’ll stay clear and have Garth do the same.”

Bobby stayed with Dean while Alice and John headed for the yard. They silently wrapped up against the cold, watching the snow still falling outside. “You really think we can get him out of here,” Alice asked. 

“We have to,” John said. “If not he’s going to be using that headstone sooner rather than later.”

John and Alice trudged to the truck, the snow piled high on the frame. John pulled the door open and turned over the cold engine. Alice leaned in and cranked up the heat, before laying a quilt across the cold bench seat. “Try to pull as close to the porch as you can, we’ll meet you on the steps with Dean,” Alice said. “You need anything before heading to the hospital?”

“Not that I can think of,” John said as he maneuvered the truck into drive. “Find Sam, let him know what’s happened.”

Alice darted across the yard, her red hair streaming behind her. She headed straight for the bathroom, Bobby kneeling by Dean as he was making another blood puddle on her floor. Dean didn’t look up at her as she stooped down and slipped her hand under his arm. “Let’s get him up,” Alice said. “Dean, I’ll grab your coat.”

Bobby and Alice half carried Dean to the front door, his own steps wobbly; Alice helped him into his boots before manhandling him into his gray hoodie. “I’ll find Sam,” Alice said. 

As Alice tucked the blanket around Dean’s shivering form in the cold truck cab, Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She leaned close, listening to his near whisper. “What if they ask how the tooth got in there,” Dean asked. “What if there’s something else? Worse?”

Alice’s eyes widened, she caught John’s eye before saying, “Everything will be okay. We’ll find Sam and be right behind you.”

Dean didn’t say anything as Alice slammed the truck door, she gave them a quick wave before heading back into the house. Bobby was already trying to get Sam on the phone with no luck. 

“I can’t get a damn signal,” he proclaimed as he paced the kitchen. “When are they do back?”

“Not for probably another hour at least,” Alice said distractedly as she dropped the large Wendigo journal on the table in front of her. “Bigger problem though. What exactly do you think the hospital staff will do if Dean has more teeth…or anything else…in his stomach?”

Bobby’s pacing slowed as he turned to face Alice. “Probably nothing good,” he said running a hand over his face. “What do you think, cops?”

“Or Marshalls,” Alice said as she thumbed through the book in front of her. “The fact that Dean hasn’t swallowed his own teeth, and might have a handful in there from the…people the Wendigo ate, it might be a cause of concern for some people. Cannibalism is not a new thing, but it’s definitely not what people will expect to find here. We need a plan to spring him once they can figure out what’s wrong with him.”

“What if it’s abdominal surgery,” Bobby said; his disbelief evident to Alice. “You can’t be considering hauling him out of the hospital after major surgery.”

“It’s us or the law,” Alice said. “What do you think will be better for Dean?”

“Ah hell,” Bobby said as he tossed his phone on the table. “We’re going to need suits.”


	32. The Judgement End of a Scalpel

John looked across the truck cab at Dean’s shivering form. He cranked the heater back up, although he knew it wouldn’t do any good; Dean’s shivering had nothing to do with the temperature. Dean leaned against the door, under the quilt his arms were wrapped tightly around his abdomen as if to protect it. The only problem was the source of the pain was lodged inside. He bit his lip to stifle yet another groan as the waves of nausea coupled with the severe indigestion he was experiencing. He didn’t bother to open his eyes to look at John; he could feel his eyes boring into him. 

“Stop staring,” Dean muttered. “Your making me feel like I’m about to die.”

“Well, you like kind of look that way, Dean,” John stated. “You need to throw up, you let me know. The hospital is a few miles away.”

“Which one,” Dean asked. The snow was making it hard to see even though it was only midday. 

“We’re near Delano,” John said aloud, more to himself than Dean. “There’s the one in Etowah, but the one on Athens is bigger, better.”

“It’s the same one Bobby and Garth robbed,” Dean ground out, holding his stomach as the truck hit a bump. 

“I don’t care if they exorcised a demon in the cafeteria there, that’s where you’re going. It’s the closest,” John said as he pushed the truck past the speed limit. It had been a long time since he had been in the area, but he still knew the way. 

Dean leaned his head back, trying to find some sense of calm. He had wished to get out of the house, but deep down he was terrified to go to the hospital. Even without the odds that they would find something horrific in his gut, he didn’t want to go. He had seen enough needles, tubes, and poking and prodding. He knew that the second he set foot in the hospital he was going to get whisked away and made to endure until the end. He just wanted to drive away from this mess as quickly as he could, leaving everything behind in a dust cloud of bad memories. 

They road in silence as John kept pushing the truck faster; nearly missing his turn into the city limits of Athens. John broke the silence, “Don’t answer any questions about what they find, do your best to just stick with how you’re feeling.” 

Dean nodded silently, his eyes staring at the bright lights ahead of them. They passed the familiar blue road sign indicating that they were in fact going the right direction. He knew the drill, goodness knows they all did. Gunshot wounds get called in, a digestive tract full of teeth or human remains was bound to get some unwanted attention as well. The biggest worry Dean had was who would get him first, the cops or the psychotherapists. Given a choice, he’d take the cops. 

As they pulled up to the emergency room door, John threw the truck into park and ran around the side, yanking the door open. As soon as Dean stood, he knew it was going to be bad. He felt himself falling forward, unable to stop himself. John awkwardly caught him inches from the pavement, holding onto him firmly as he watched Dean once again heave another stomach’s worth of blood onto the pavement. He waved to the nurse standing by the door, obviously on a smoke break. 

“Get a wheelchair,” John yelled as he scooped Dean up in his arms. It caught him off guard, how light Dean was. He watched as a look of pure panic passed over Dean’s face, just before his eyes rolled up. John forgot about the wheelchair and held Dean tighter, sprinting towards the door of the emergency room. He ran past the desk, Dean hanging from his arms. John’s head swam as he watched several people dressed in scrubs lunge for him, people shouting and calling out for supplies, while they pulled Dean out of his arms. For the first time in a long time, John was faced with the thought that his son might die. He stood, glued to the floor, as they rolled Dean away on a gurney. John was pushed behind a small curtain, a woman in scrubs holding a clip board led him to a chair. 

“Are you okay,” she asked for the third time, trying to get him attention. He shook his head and looked at her, trying to concentrate on what she was saying. 

“He’s my son,” John said, impatiently. “He’s been throwing up blood for about an hour or so. Complained he’s been having severe indigestion and cramping since sometime last night.”

“Okay, has he thrown up anything aside from blood, any food particles or foreign objects,” the nurse asked. 

John paused for a second and then lied, “No. Just blood by the looks of it.”

“Has he been taking any medications? Does he have any allergies,” she asked, writing on her clip board. 

“He was taking antibiotics for pneumonia, but those ended a day or two ago,” he said. “No allergies.”

He watched as the nurse walked away, her stride unbroken as she pushed past the double doors at the end of the room. He slumped back into his chair; he could feel where the stitches in his own shoulder had torn out. He glanced out of the curtained area before helping himself to a handful of gauze and silk tape. He was just sitting down again when a man in scrubs walked into the curtained section. 

“We’re going to be taking him up for some tests, we’ve started with an abdominal XRAY, next we’ll scope him to try and see what’s causing his bleeding but by the look and feel of the mass in his lower abdomen, we’re likely going to have to do an exploratory laparotomy to remove the mass,” the man explained. “Do you have any questions or objections?”

John shook his head before saying, “Just find out what’s wrong with my son.”

“I do have a few concerns regarding your son’s condition,” the man said. “You told the nurse he was receiving antibiotics for pneumonia. It looks as though he had a recent IV line in his hand, the bruising is a telltale sign. Was he being treated at home or in another facility?”

“Uh-home,” John said, wondering why this man was busy questioning him instead of being in the other room helping Dean. “Why?”

“Is there any reason your son was being given them via an IV line,” the man asked. “Does he suffer from any type of swallowing conditions, such as dysphagia?”

“Not that I know of,” John said, his mind whirling into overdrive to find a lie that would get this man away from him. “I’ve been out of town for a few weeks, I just got home and found him like this.”

“Well, I’ll have a case manager come down and go over some paperwork with you,” the man said as he walked away. John felt a heaviness fall over him as he watched the man look back at him, his face riddled with suspicion. 

A few doors away, Dean was fighting the nurses. He was lying flat on a gurney, the brightness of the overhead light too much; the nasal cannula that had been shoved up his nose making him feel like he was suffocating. He weakly tried to push their prodding hands away from his abdomen, every poke and prod amassing to an unbearable level of pain. He watched as the radiologist stepped back into the small room, the disbelief on his face obvious. Dean tried to hear as the radiologist began talking to the surgeon who had come down to take a look at him; their words were mostly lost in whir of activity in the room. He squinted his eyes, trying to read their lips as they kept talking, occasionally glancing over at him. The few words he could make out set him on edge, words like ‘fibrous mass’, ‘bone shards’, and ‘bezoar’. 

Dean panicked, the thought of anyone finding those things lodged in his body made his fight or flight instinct kick in full force. He sucked in his breath and pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to get his feet to the floor. He felt multiple pairs of hands grabbing him, holding him in place. The more Dean tried to move, the tighter the hands held on. A nurse stepped close to him, telling him to calm down. Dean looked up at her, he could see fear or maybe it was judgment in her eyes. He felt the same sense of claustrophobia he had experienced at Alice’s, only worse this time. He needed to get out of here; surely if he could just lie down for a while in the Impala, Sam at the wheel, with the hospital in his rearview mirror he would feel better. Hell, he’d even let that weird kid, Garth; drive his car if it meant he could leave. Dean heard someone talking to him, he opened his eyes and saw the radiologist and surgeon looked down at him, each sporting the same expression as the nurse. 

“What did you eat,” the radiologist asked. “We need to know.”

Dean looked from one face to the other, the judgment in their eyes unmistakable; before he even thought about it, his fists were clenched and he was swinging. He felt the many hands grabbing at him again, this time more firm and unshakeable. The last word he heard was ‘sedative’ before a wave of warmth and euphoria washed over him, followed by nothing but darkness.

The next hour was a blur for John, a case manager continued to push paper at him: consent forms for every little thing, insurance forms, as well as interviews about Dean’s medical history. Under his tired physique, he was beginning to panic slightly. He knew from a nurse who was keeping him up to date with Dean’s condition, that they were going to do some blood work; John knew what that meant, a drug test. He froze when he realized the drug cocktail Dean had been exposed to in the last few weeks. Aside from the antibiotics and over the counter pain killers, there was the illegal M99, the horse tranquilizers, along with a few other random sedatives that Jim tried while finding what had worked. He ran a hand over his face, kicking his own ass, when he realized Dean still had gauze taped to his chest, protecting the sensitive skin where the recent stitches had been. Add that to the old, unset broken leg that had healed on its own, the burns that were still healing on his chest and the few other odds and ends that plagued the oldest Winchester son, John knew they were screwed. Each and every one of them. He dropped his head into his hands and wondered if there was any way to keep the shit from totally destroying the fan as it hit. 

His cellphone went off, a nurse pointing to a ‘no cell phones in building’ sign as she walked by. John nodded and headed for the door, moving a few steps away from the entrance of the building. He glanced around, seeing his truck neatly parked in a space a few feet away. 

“Get out of the hospital, John,” Alice said the second she heard his voice. 

“Dean’s in surgery,” John said, wondering what Alice was talking about. “I can’t leave.”

“You’ve done the paperwork, right? Told them everything you know,” Alice stated. “Leave. As soon as they cut him open, we’re going to have trouble. The kind we can’t talk our way out of. We’ve got to find a way to get him out of there once he’s in recovery.”

“Then we’ll need someone inside,” John argued. “I’m here, he’s my son.”

“And you’ll be arrested along with him, most likely,” Alice stated firmly. “We’re only going to be able to pull off one rescue tonight, and Dean’s got first dibs.”

“What’s the plan,” John asked as he moved to his truck. 

“We’ve got Jim, no one will recognize him,” Alice said. “We’ll get him inside and figure out what’s going on. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes with my old suburban. We’re loaded for just about everything we could think of. Move your truck behind the gas station across the street.”

John looked at the hospital, somewhere inside the building, his oldest son was about to literally have his guts ripped open. He hoped that Dean would able to forgive him for abandoning him, he hated to think of how many times his boys had woken up in a hospital alone.

Three stories above him, a surgeon was having a hard time not gagging. No, he was gagging. His perfect record of never having been grossed out had finally met his match. He looked up at the other surgeon across the room and asked, “Are you serious? Is this a joke?”

“No, just looked through the pictures from the scope,” the other man said. “He’s definitely got a bezoar, big one too. Better get moving, this kid looks like shit; must have had it for a while. Half the staff is curious to see what it’s made from. The radiologist swears there are bone shards in it, he’s got fifty bucks on it.”

The surgeon watched as the other gloved and gowned man moved out of the room, the OR nurses filing in behind him. He glanced over the drape, down at the kid’s face; he looked fairly young, but from the drape down, he was a mess. He could see the work of previous surgeries, the faintly scarred lines that had been strategically made. Some of the scars were obvious from injuries, a slight pucker of the skin from stitches made by unskilled hands, the type of homemade medicine that made the surgeon shudder. He briefly wondered how old this kid was, to have such a story to tell embedded in his very skin, muscle, and bones. The surgeon glanced down at the obviously broken leg; he ran a finger over the calcified lump. It had obviously healed without any type of medical intervention. The surgeon’s brow furrowed as he moved to Dean’s hand. He picked it up and scrutinized it under the bright lights—there it was; the gummy residue that always stuck to patient’s hand after having an IV taped in place on their hand. He dropped Dean’s hand and motioned to one of the nurses. 

“I want a social worker in his room the second he’s lucid,” the surgeon said through his mask as he reached for the scalpel.


	33. Mayhem and Morpine, AKA Ass in a Sling

Jim gazed at the badge in his hand, wondering how the Winchester’s had come by it. He slid the badge into his pocket before adjusting the suit jacket and checking his reflection in the mirror of the gas station bathroom. He couldn’t believe Dean had been his size before the Wendigo incident happened. Luckily for Dean, Sam had dug through the seldom used box of clothing in the Impala and found the perfect suit for Jim to wear, helping him to appear as an official officer of the law. 

Jim hurried out of the gas station and headed for the suburban. As he slid onto the bench seat he heard Sam on the phone; Garth put a finger to his lips and motioned for Jim to be quiet. They all sat in silence, waiting and listening.

“Yes, he was a patient of ours some time ago. I heard from his father he was being admitted,” Sam explained to the person on the other end of the line. “When is he expected to be out of surgery? I’d like an opportunity to discuss his case with his surgeon.” Sam grabbed the pen and paper from Alice, writing notes as fast as he could. “Yes, I’ll be available at this number for any updates regarding his patient’s condition.” 

Sam shoved his phone back in his pocket before filling everyone in. “Okay, according to the charge nurse, Dean is still in surgery, they don’t expect him to be out for another half hour at least. Because she thinks I’m his doctor from a recent admission in Georgia, she was able to pass on some details at least. They found a bezoar in his abdomen; apparently the majority of the bleeding was from a massive gastric ulcer, which they linked to the bezoar. They’ve removed the bezoar and are working on closing him up now.”

“What exactly is a bezoar,” Garth asked as he looked at Jim. 

“It’s a mass created from non-digestible items,” Jim explained. “Think giant hair ball. The body can’t process it and it just builds up, eventually causing….well, this.” 

“Oh man, Dean was taken down by a giant hairball,” Garth said, his face a mix of sympathy and humor. 

“Chances are, the surgeon will dissect it,” Jim said, making eye contact with John. “They find any… human fragments and they’ll call the cops for sure. They won’t need a body to hold him. Cannibalism is not held as dearly in the United States as some places.”

“Well, in this snow storm we may have a little time to get ahead of them,” John said. “I think we need to go in fairly aggressive for Dean. Let them think we were on to him before he got admitted; that we’re there for the legal processing and maybe they’ll bypass calling the actual cops. Or at least give us a chance to get him out before they do.”

“There are two other things we need to do while we’re in there,” Jim said, looking hesitantly at John. “We need his medical record, as much of it as we can get; so we can see everything they did. This hospital is old enough that I doubt they have converted to electronic files yet. We’ll need the hard copy.”

“What’s the other thing,” Alice asked as she stared at the hospital looming ahead of them. 

“Drugs, lots of drugs and supplies,” Jim said. “I’m going to assume he’ll be all hooked up, the full gambit. We can assume he’s got a catheter and IV fluids. I’d guess morphine and on top of his mental state from the drugs and being confronted by the staff, he’s just been through major surgery. He’s going to be hard to move; he more than likely won’t even be able to be roused. We’ve got to be careful and have pain meds ready to go.”

“Won’t they already have him loaded up on pain killers,” Sam asked, suddenly worried about the possibility that moving Dean might be the wrong way to go.

“Yes, but we need to be cautious,” Jim said. “I’m just thinking we need to hit the pharmacy. We don’t have time for me to call my uncle for a prescription this time. Besides, they’ll know what drugs he’s going to need; they’ll be watching the local pharmacies for theft and matching prescriptions.”

“How are we going to do this,” Bobby asked. “Garth and I already robbed this place once so we can’t just waltz back in. And they’ll be looking for John.”

John nodded hesitantly and said, “Sam, you and Jim are going in after Dean. Bobby and I have to stay out of sight, we’ll have the vehicles ready. You call when you’re close to being outside with him.”

“Jim, leave the pharmacy to me,” Alice said. “I’ll need help so we’ll have to take the risk. Garth, you’re with me.” 

John turned in the seat and looked at Alice, “What exactly is your plan?”

“Improvise, besides….I have a set of counterfeit privileges on file with this hospital. That’s how Bobby was able to just pick them up last time, I called them in under the name Dr. Holiday,” Alice admitted. “Given I don’t want to have to ruin my position here, I occasionally depend on picking up meds for other hunters.” 

 

“Alright, well, be careful. Try to find out how many guards there are on staff, it’s a small hospital so probably no more than two for every shift,” Bobby said. 

After another ten minutes of working out the details, Sam and Jim climbed out of the suburban and headed across the street, the snow engulfing them. They headed straight for the elevator, Sam giving Jim a few last words about imitating a law officer. 

“Okay, we’re Federal Marshalls. You have a badge, don’t be afraid to flash it but don’t let anyone get to close a look,” Sam said as he pushed the button that would deliver them to recovery floor. Jim followed a step behind Sam, studying his body language. Sam was confident, the suit just another weapon, only this time it was in deception. Sam marched right to the counter, flashing his stolen badge followed by a killer smile intended for the young nurse behind the counter. 

“We’re looking for the charge nurse,” Sam said. “Can you get her for me please?”

The young nurse stood up and said, “I’m the charge nurse for this wing. What can I help you with?”

“We’re here about a young man named Dean Holton, he was delivered to the emergency room and left by his father,” Sam said, watching her expression. “We’re here to apprehend him.”

The young woman’s eyes grew wide. “You got here quick. We only called the cops about ten minutes ago but with the snow storm we’re not really expecting them for a little while,” she said. “We have Randall, one of our security guards with him.”

“We were moving in to apprehend him when he was taken to the hospital,” Sam explained. “It took us a little while to get here in the storm.”

“What is he wanted for,” the nurse asked. 

“Ma’am, we’d rather not discuss it as it’s of a delicate nature,” Sam said leaning over the counter. “But I will tell you that it’s imperative we remove him from this facility.”

“He’s just out from surgery, you’ll have to speak with his surgeon about transporting him,” she said as she reached for the phone. 

“Fine,” Sam said. 

Sam and Jim stood at the counter waiting; Sam immediately identified the surgeon from his sour expression as he stepped out of the elevator. He marched to the counter and asked, “What is the meaning of this? You can’t believe I’m about to let you transfer a patient that just underwent major surgery.” 

“It’s not a matter of you ‘letting’. It’s a matter of you assisting us in upholding the law,” Sam said, authority oozing from him. “You have no idea what kind of man you have laying in that bed.”

“Actually, I think I do,” the surgeon said as he pulled a chart from the rack and placed it in front of them. “He had a bezoar. The lab is still doing some testing, but we’ve already identified small bones from a human foot, human hair that doesn’t match his own, and two permanent adult teeth even though all of his are accounted for. The worse thing, if you can believe it, was the shoelace, wedding ring, and a piece of a running shoe. We found a Nike logo on it.”

Sam felt himself going slightly pale. Jim saw Sam begin to falter and jumped to intervene. 

“We have been tracking him for some time, we’ve already taken his father into custody. We have specific orders to move him to a secure facility,” Jim said firmly. 

“Gentlemen, we’re in a near blizzard. The cops I called earlier still have yet to show. He’s not going anywhere in this snow storm. This facility is about as secure as it gets right now,” the man said.

Sam sighed and said, “Sir, in the meantime, we’d like to view his medical records for our investigation.”

“Fine, I’ll have the nurse make you a copy. In the meantime, you can at least relieve Randall, he’s watching your guy,” the surgeon said. “It’s standard protocol when we find something out of the ordinary, you know… gunshot or knife wound, call the cops and have hospital security take over until they get here. Only problem, with this storm, the other security guard couldn’t make it in. He’s in room 308.” 

Jim caught Sam’s eye and headed for room 308, he saw Randall sitting in a chair outside the room thumbing through a magazine. He sized the man up as he walked towards him, he was younger than Jim had hoped and had a standard issue nine millimeter on his hip. 

“You going in,” Randall asked as Jim showed him his badge. “I tried sitting in there, but he’s nuts. Drugged or not, he’s off his rocker.”

Jim didn’t pay much attention to Randalls’s words and walked into Dean’s room. He looked worse than before, if possible. His skin was pale and clammy, dark circles under his eyes. Jim walked up to Dean, noticing that aside from the catheter, the IV fluids and antibiotics, oxygen, and soft bed restraints, he was handcuffed to the bedframe. 

As Jim stepped up to the bed, he cleared his throat. Dean didn’t even flinch when Jim picked up his hand and dropped it back onto the bed. Sam walked in; flipping through the chart, worry in his eyes. “Looks like they had to give him some blood to replace what he lost, he’s gonna love to know that,” Sam muttered. 

“The nurse let you walk off with the original,” Jim asked, motioning to the chart. 

“She was called away from the desk, I borrowed it,” Sam said. He looked at Dean, the chart forgotten. 

“He looks worse than before,” he said as he handed the chart to Jim.

“He might look that way, but he should actually be on the mend. He should be better able to eat and gain weight without the bezoar in the way,” Jim explained as he pulled the nasal cannula from Dean’s nose. 

Flipping through the paperwork, Jim walked to the IV pole and pulled the bag loose and dropped in on the bed next to Dean. Next he reached under the bed and grabbed the catheter bag and dropped it on the bed. “We’ll take these with us, no point in taking them out just to have to put them a back in. According to the chart, he was very combative before the surgery that’s why they have him in restraints, which almost seems ridiculous since he won’t be waking up for a while.”

Sam was already undoing to soft wrist restraints, his face looking anxious as he glanced at the clock. “How long before Alice and Garth are ready,” he asked. 

“Five minutes,” Jim said he tossed Sam the handcuff key they had brought with them. “Let’s get him ready to run. Grab the thermal blanket from the linen cart over there, it’s freezing outside.”

Sam stepped outside of the door and addressed Randall, “We’re going to be making arrangements to have him transported to a secure location. The nurses are working on the paperwork now. We appreciate your time in guarding him, but we’ve got it from here.”

Randall picked up him magazine and nodded, rising to his feet. “You keep an eye on him, he’s a true criminal, crazy too,” Randall said. 

Sam nodded and waited for Randall to walk down the long hallway, disappearing around the corner. Sam pushed the door open and waved to Jim; Jim pushed the wheeled bed across the room maneuvering it into the doorway. 

“Elevator,” Jim asked. 

“Across from the nurse’s station,” Sam said. “Looks like the only one.”

“You have plan for that,” Jim asked. 

“Yep, we just don’t stop,” Sam said as he pulled the bed through the doorway and towards the elevator. Jim stuffed the medical file under the thermal blanket and grabbed the other side of the bed to help Sam steer. 

Meanwhile, Garth thought he was having a heart attack. If he had known Alice’s plan, he would have opted to stay in the truck and get an ass chewing from Bobby or even John. He clutched the small tranquilizer gun Alice had given him and watched the door. He glanced down at the pharmacist, lying flat and motionless as the dart in his chest moved in time with his breathing. 

He could hear Alice behind him, the sound of boxes being knocked over, of plastic being ripped open. The backpack on his shoulders was getting heavier by the second as Alice stuffed it with mixed IV solutions and tubing. He glanced over his shoulder, she was stuffing a box of syringes in the bag, a single one held between her teeth. He knew she had already gotten morphine and antibiotics, the most important items on their list. He glanced at his watch and whispered, “I have to go. We have three minutes.” 

Alice zipped up his backpack and patted his shoulder. “Alight, you’re packed. Send the stretcher up and then get right out to the truck,” Alice said as Garth slipped out of the door. Alice tugged the pharmacist’s lab coat on over her scrubs and stepped out into the hallway, heading towards the elevator. She watched as Garth disappeared inside, hoping that their plan worked. 

Alice waited to catch the next elevator, traveling to the basement subfloor. As the door opened, Garth was standing there with a stretcher. He pushed it inside and said, “I’ll take the stairs, meet you outside.”

Alice nodded and made the trip to the third floor, as the door opened with a sharp ‘ding’ she was taken back at what was happening at the nurse’s station. Sam and Jim were steps from the elevator, the bed loaded with Dean in hand, while the security guard and nurse were arguing with them. 

“You can’t take him until we see an arrest warrant,” the guard said. “You get that and you can have him.”

“We have to let the surgeon discharge him,” the nurse was arguing. 

Alice glanced around the hallway and realized that they were bound to draw a crowd soon. Having not been noticed, she stepped out behind the security guard and leveled her tranquilizer gun at him. He hit the floor seconds before the nurse did. Jim leapt to help Alice drag the security guard behind the counter next to the nurse. Sam realized their miscalculation; the elevator wouldn’t hold the bed and the stretcher. 

“Alice, hit the door hold button,” Sam cried out as the door tried to slide shut. She caught the elevator door just as it would have closed and taken the stretcher away from them. Sam and Jim moved to Dean’s bed and grabbed the corners of the bed sheet under him. They made eye contact; Sam nodded and they began to lift. Jim watched as Dean’s head rolled from one side to the other, a frown beginning to form on his face. Jim knew the movement was painful, even in his current drugged out state. 

They walked carefully to the stretcher, Alice helped to navigate Dean onto it. Sam shoved the hospital bed away from the door and hit the close door button. Alice and Jim moved to Dean and spread another white sheet over him; Jim and Sam moving to the other end of the elevator while Alice took her place behind the hospital bed, ready to push it. As the elevator door opened to the ground floor, two police officers came into view; they paused and waited for Jim and Sam to exit the elevator. One of the officers turned to Sam and Jim and asked, “Are you two the US Marshalls?”

Jim and Sam looked at each other before Jim reached out and put his arm around Sam’s waist and said, “You mean those cute guys in the suits upstairs? I think we passed them on the third floor.”

Alice was still standing behind them, her shoulders shaking slightly from laughter as she watched Jim and Sam saunter away, Jim’s hand still on Sam’s waist as they walked right out the front door. She watched the cops look at each and shake their heads before turning back the elevator. 

“Excuse me, please,” she said as she pushed the stretcher out of the elevator. “This is my floor.”

“Not headed to the morgue with that one,” one of the officers asked. 

“Oh, she’s not dead,” Alice said quietly as she continued to push the stretcher past them. “She’s covered in burns, doesn’t want anyone looking at her. I’m taking her to her room.”

“Oh, sorry,” the officer said his face suddenly apologetic. They stepped out of her way, Alice smiling at her success. She continued to push the stretcher down the hallway and finally out into the ambulance bay. She spotted the suburban and gave a wave, John carefully drove across the snowy parking lot and backed up as close as he could get. As John and Sam lifted the stretcher into the back of the suburban, Alice tossed John the syringe loaded with morphine. “In case he needs it,” she called out as she ran for the truck across the parking lot. 

As John slowly followed the pickup truck through the blowing snow, he turned and asked Sam, “He okay back there?”

“He looks alright, just don’t slam on the breaks if you can avoid it. We don’t have any way to lock the stretcher in place,” Sam replied, glancing over the seat to see Dean’s sleeping face. 

“Garth got out okay,” Sam asked. 

“Yeah he did fine,” John said as he continued to watch the taillights ahead of him. “Did I really see Jim holding your ass when you two walked out of there?”

“Yeah, you did. Apparently, the one thing that stuck from our talk was improvising,” Sam said, blushing. “But it got the cops out of our way and a little distracted before Alice came into view.”

John nodded and said, “Jim’s going to make one hell of a hunter.”


	34. Breaking Up the Band, One Hug at a Time

John continued to watch Dean’s chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. He rubbed a hand over his face as Bobby walked in and handed him a cup of coffee. They stood side by side and looked at the young man before them, the man they had just broken a dozen or so laws to get back. Hell-it was the life of a hunter, especially for a Winchester. 

Bobby continued to gaze at Dean, sipping his coffee; before he asked, “You going to talk her into staying on ‘til he’s ready to go?”

John didn’t take his eyes off of Dean as he replied, “I’m going to try, I think she would be a help to them both. But I know she needs to go; she’s hurting. She needed to leave days ago. I don’t want her feeling guilty about leaving if that’s what she chooses.”

Bobby nodded and moved to the armchair and sat down, trying to make himself comfortable. “You go ahead, after everything he’s put us through, I think I can watch him sleep for a while,” Bobby said as he pulled a book from the stack on the table. “I’ll let you know if he wakes up.”

John walked down the hallway, glancing into the kitchen at the small group at the table. Jim was showing Garth how to put in an IV line, using a slightly leery Sam as the guinea pig. “You better make it good, Garth,” Sam said with a wince on his face. “Cause your up next and I’m not really feeling the bedside manner love right now.”

John shook his head and began the descent downstairs. He knocked on the panic room door, pushing it open when there was no answer. The room was dark and cold, the only light coming in from the hallway behind him. He slowly pushed the door open, stopping it when the sliver of light landed on Alice’s face. She was curled up on the cot, asleep in the scrubs from yesterday’s hospital heist. He watched her face, the tension lines were more visible now than when she had disappeared downstairs yesterday; almost immediately after they had unloaded Dean from the suburban. 

He cleared his throat before walking across the room and sitting on the cot across from her. She rolled away from him and asked, “What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing, he’s still asleep,” John asked. “I was going to ask when you’re heading out.”

“You think anything else could possibly happen,” Alice asked with a yawn. “I think you guys can handle it from here. I trust you to lock up when you leave.”

“Well, it will have to be Sam locking up,” John said, dropping his head down. “I’ve got to get on the road soon, got a lead.”

Alice felt her anger beginning to boil. “You’re going to leave, now? We just got Dean back, he’s not even been conscience for more than a minute or two yet and you’re packing up,” Alice remarked. “You’re one hell of a father, John.”

“I was hoping you would stay here for a bit, just until they can get Dean ready to go to Bobby’s,” John said, ignoring Alice’s remark. He could feel his temper flaring, but now was not the time. He needed to know she was still on the helping end of things. 

Alice laid there with her back to John, something she previously thought she’d never do again; and considered what to do. It had been years since anyone had stayed in her house other than herself, probably years before anyone did again. She sighed and said, “What if something else happens?”

“You can handle it, it’s what we all do,” John said. “It’s the life.”

She rolled over and looked at him, “What are everyone’s plans?”

“Well, as soon as Dean is able, Sam will drive him to Bobby’s so they can lay low while Dean gets on his feet again. Garth is looking for a job down South, says he’s seen enough snow. Jim has made plans to resume his clinical studies in Atlanta. Bobby is going to head for South Dakota in the next day or two,” John explained. 

“What about you,” Alice asked. “How long before you’re on the road?”

John looked at her, the light on her red hair catching his eyes. “The morning,” he said. “I got a call an hour ago about a job in Wyoming. Possible possession, don’t want to miss the opportunity to check it out.”

“You still looking, huh,” Alice said. “Your more determined than most.”

“What about you,” he asked, not wanting to discuss his research on the demon he was still looking for. “When were you hoping to leave?”

“The morning, same as you,” Alice said with a shrug. “There’s a guy in Mexico that has been doing some Wendigo research, thought I’d drop in and compare notes. From there probably Arizona for a few weeks unless something else comes up.”

“How long are you going to be gone this time,” John asked. 

“I can’t come back until I burn again, could be a while,” Alice said with a shrug. “If you’re in the area and need a place to bunk down you can always get the key from Abraham. He’d give it to you.”

John nodded and rose to his feet. “I’d like to know you’re staying with the boys. Can you do that?”

“You know it’s not a matter of wanting too, it’s a matter of can or can’t,” Alice said with a tired expression. “I can stay for another day or two, max.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to Sam about moving him in a few days,” John said curtly. 

“They can stay here until they’re ready,” Alice argued. “But I can’t.”

John stood silently, wondering how he could convince her to do what he wouldn’t. He shook his head, “I know the snow is a problem for your bike, I’ll see if Bobby will loan me his car. He can drive my truck to his place in South Dakota and take you and your bike. You can split off from his route whenever you feel the roads are better. I’ll trade vehicles with him on my way back from Wyoming.”

Alice nodded and rolled back over, closing her eyes. “Fine, tell Garth I know of a job for him if he’s interested,” she said. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jim was impressed with himself. It’s not easy to teach someone how to insert IV lines when they keep wincing and apologizing as they work. 

“Garth, pretend Sam is going to die if you can’t get the line in properly,” Jim said, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he watched Garth wince and again apologize to Sam, who was looking more and more impatient. 

Garth winced and muttered another apology to Sam as he slowly inserted the needle into the back of Sam’s hand. Sam was staring hard at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore him.

“I’m just worried that once you show me how to take this line out, Sam is going to kill me,” Garth said as he motioned for Jim to check his work. 

“Don’t worry Garth, I don’t need to remove it to kill you,” Sam ground out. “Jim, get this out so I can take a turn sticking Garth.”

Bobby flipped another page of the book he was reading, chuckling as he overhead the conversation filtering in from the kitchen. He knew Sam was joking, but he wouldn’t want to be Garth’s pin cushion either. He was pleased Jim had agreed to stay another day or two and give Garth some training; the kid needed more than just hunting experience to survive out there. Bobby flipped another page of the book he had found in Alice’s guest room when a noise caught his attention. 

“10W30,” the voice mumbled. Bobby glanced up and saw Dean talking to the lamp again. 

He sighed and flipped another page. “What do you need Dean,” Bobby asked, an amused smile on his face. 

“The Impala…my baby…she takes 10W30…” Dean said slightly louder, still addressing the lamp. 

“I know that son, but it’s not time for an oil change,” Bobby said. “You’d be hurting if you tried.”

“I don’t feel hurt,” Dean said, finally looking at Bobby, waving a hand at him. “I feel…..awesome.”

Bobby chuckled. “That’s the morphine, you idjit,”Bobby said. 

“Oh……10W30, Bobby…” Dean said again. “Don’t let Sam give her any of that whole wheat, organic, pussy crap……or 10W40………he’ll do it if you don’t watch him…”

Bobby smiled and flipped another page. “Your brother is not going to ‘pussy’ up the Impala,” Bobby explained. “But he might if you don’t start getting better soon. How you feeling, kid?”

Dean continued to stare at the lamp on the bedside table, glaring at it intensely. “You get a new hat Bobby?”

“That’s a lampshade, idjit,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Bobby got to his feet and walked over to Dean, his green eyes still tired but certainly livelier than before. “I asked you how you were feeling.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “M’okay. Why?” 

“You’re not okay, but it’s a start,” Bobby said. “I’ll get Sam and your dad for you; sure they want to see the whites of your eyes.”

“Sam’s not out changing the oil again is he,” Dean asked the lamp again with a yawn. 

“No, now stay awake for a minute or two this time so someone else can see your craziness for themselves,” Bobby muttered. “They never believe me.”

Bobby walked into the hallway and bumped into John in the hallway. “He’s awake,” Bobby said. “Wants assurances Sam isn’t out gussying up his oil pan.”

John grinned and said, “I’ll go talk to him, if you see Garth tell him Alice has a job for him.”

Bobby walked into the kitchen, waving Sam towards the hallway. “He’s awake, not really lucid yet.”

Sam headed for the bedroom, leaving Garth with an IV line dangling from his hand. “Jim, can you take this out,” Garth asked. “Sam just abandoned his patient.”

“Garth, why are on earth is Sam practicing on you,” Bobby asked in disbelief. “He’s got more experience than most hunters I know! He’s a pro, hasn’t needed lessons or a refresher in years. He certainly got you back though.”

Garth looked from Jim to Bobby, his face getting red as he realized the truth. “Sam!”

Jim laughed and pulled the line free from Garth’s hand. “How is Dean doing in there Bobby,” Jim asked. 

“He’s himself, just higher than his ego normally takes him,” Bobby said. “He going to be okay?”

“He should be fine. He could probably even leave in a few days as long as he could lay down for the drive,” Jim said. “He and Sam are going to your place, right?”

Bobby nodded and said, “They can relax there a little more since no one will be looking for them.”

Garth nodded and said, “I’ve been monitoring the lines, the cops don’t have any leads on the missing patient or the US Marshalls. Apparently, no one got any names that were helpful.”

“And the pharmacy robbery,” Bobby asked.

“Well, they have a good description of Alice, but once she burns again, they won’t be able to recognize her,” Garth said with a shrug. 

The next morning went much like it had for the past few days, Sam changing Dean’s wound dressings and hanging new bags of antibiotics and fluids while Jim looked on, making sure Dean and Sam would do alright once he moved on. Garth spent breakfast looked through the file Alice had given him, quiet and pensive, drawing out his route in his atlas. Bobby sat back, nursing his coffee and silently watched the interaction between Alice and John, he knew that no matter what niceties they had shared over the past few days, nothing could prevent everything from hitting the fan before John left in the next few hours. 

Alice sat across the table from Garth, occasionally glancing at the file in his hand. “Garth, what are you going to be hunting,” Bobby asked curiously. 

“Um---Alice asked me to take a look into a few skunk ape sightings in Florida,” Garth said as he flipped the atlas shut. 

Bobby snorted into his coffee and after clearing his throat, said, “You find it, I want pictures. Fifty bucks says you never find hide nor hair.”

“You’re on,” Garth said with a grin. “I’m about to head out in a few. I saw the tractor go past, Abraham was working on getting us a road dug out today.”

A few rooms away, Dean was bored. Well, when he wasn’t talking to the lamp or sleeping like the dead, he was bored. Sam had given him a few car magazines he had found in the Impala’s trunk, but Dean couldn’t concentrate on the words and his arms got tired of holding it up. His gut hurt like a bitch, but more than morphine some part of him needed to hear the voices in the kitchen, to smell the bitter coffee that was infused throughout the house, to know that things were as normal as they ever had been. He continued to gaze at the quilt on the bed; he recognized it from years ago, a distant memory of playing on it with Sam in Alice’s garden as she had pulled weeds.

He felt John walk into the room more than he heard him. He didn’t even need to look. 

“You’re leaving,” Dean said, the words not a question but a hard truth. He knew John wasn’t to stay, but damn—he hadn’t even managed to have one decent, lucid conversation with him before he was heading back out. 

“Yeah,” John said softly as he sat down in the arm chair next to the bed. “Got a job in Wyoming to check out.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just nodded his understanding. 

“You and brother keep an eye on each other; you don’t go getting into any more trouble. I don’t want to hear that you didn’t follow Jim’s instructions,” John said sternly. “I’ll be at Bobby’s in a few weeks.”

“When is everyone else leaving,” Dean asked, suddenly wistful for the open road. He hated that he was getting left behind.

“Garth and Jim are both leaving an about an hour or so, I’m headed out now,” John said. “Bobby leaves in the morning; he’s giving Alice a ride out. She’ll split off and head out on her own.”

“And me and Sam,” Dean asked, trying to not sound disappointed or even pathetic about it.

“Jim said you two would be ready to move to Bobby’s in a few days. Give Bobby a day or two get to home and settled,” John said. 

“Dad…Why did you leave us here as kids,” Dean asked curiously. “And why didn’t you mention Alice in all the years since?”

John sighed and squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. “I dropped you and Sam off here a few times when I had jobs on this coast and couldn’t make the drive to Bobby’s. And I never spoke about her because I never wanted you two to go looking for her; her existence depends on her privacy,” John said as he pushed himself out of the chair and stretched. He took a few steps towards the door when Dean called out. 

“Why her,” Dean asked. He watched John hesitate before he answered. 

“Because I knew that no matter how she felt about me, she loved you boys and would do right by you, even if I didn’t come back,” John said, glancing over his shoulder at Dean. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

Dean listened to the front door close; the sound of the Bobby’s rusted out Nova pulling away. He glanced at the small clock across the room, wondering who would leave him next. 

He was just dozing off when he heard someone walking into his room. He managed to peel an eye open and saw Garth standing in the doorway, Jim peering over his shoulder. 

“You guys heading out,” he asked, trying to make sure he didn’t sound like he was feeling. 

“Yeah, man. That skunk ape isn’t going to find itself,” Garth said with a shrug. “Besides, you need less nursemaids now that you’re on the mend. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean was shocked when Garth leaned down and gave him an awkward, yet meaningful hug. “See you around man,” Garth said, his voice sounding almost teary. 

“Uh—yeah, you too man,” Dean managed to get out as Garth disentangled himself and headed for the door. 

Jim caught Dean’s eye and shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. 

“You should have seen the hug he gave Bobby,” Jim said as he moved closer to the bed. “I thought Bobby was going to exorcise him on the spot.”

Dean chuckled a little at the thought, holding his incision slightly as he did. 

“You should be fine,” Jim asked. “I got your stuff laid out for Sam; he’s more than capable of handling your wound dressing, antibiotics, and pain meds. I looked through Alice’s stuff and found some over the counter pain meds you can use instead of the morphine; although Sam is going to keep some close for the car ride. It’s going to be a long drive to South Dakota.”

Dean nodded and said, “I appreciate it man. And for everything else…I know you didn’t find me in the forest, but you kept me out of the ground, more than once. You ever need anything, you call me; I’ll be there.”

Jim smiled and held out his hand, shaking the hand of the man who he had saved; his grandfather would have been proud to know he had managed to pull it off. The legend would continue now, with even more gusto. 

Dean watched Jim walk away, his shadow disappearing down the hallway. He listened as Alice called out goodbyes from the porch, the rumble of the cars drifting away. The house was remarkably quiet. Dean almost wondered if he was alone. He strained his ears, nothing. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his incision aching. “Sam!” he called out. 

When no one answered him, he pulled the blankets to one side and slowly slid his feet to the edge of the bed, lowering them and slowly sitting up on the edge of the bed. He sat there for a few minutes, his head swimming a bit. He heard a door slam somewhere in the house, heavy footfalls headed his direction. He glanced around the room, looking for a weapon. He was reaching for the lamp when Sam walked in. 

“Dean! What are you doing,” Sam asked as he rushed to steady his brother. 

“I didn’t hear anyone, thought maybe something had happened,” Dean said with a shrug. 

“We were out packing the Impala and dad’s truck for Bobby and Alice,” Sam said as he sat next to Dean. “Alice needed help loading her bike. Bobby helped me carry up all the weapons and load the Impala back up.”

“Good, I’m going to have to give her a once over. Make sure you remembered where everything goes,” Dean said seriously. “Can’t have you messing with my baby.”

Sam smirked, remembering the conversation Bobby had told him about Dean, the lamp, and oil change. “She’s fine,” Sam said. “Haven’t touched her.”

“Alice and Bobby ready to go,” Dean asked. “Can’t believe Alice is actually going to leave us on our own, with all her stuff.”

“Yeah, they’re packed and ready to go,” Sam said. “She seems anxious to get on the road.”

“I bet,” Dean mumbled as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. “How long before I can yank this catheter out?”

“When you can get yourself out of the bed and to the bathroom,” Sam said firmly. “Where are you headed?”

“I’ve seen about enough of this room,” Dean said as he started to shuffle out of the bedroom. “I’ll take the couch.”

Sam walked behind Dean, close enough in case he fell, but far enough away that Dean wouldn’t yell at him. As Dean was beginning to feel better, he was reverting to his usual self and griping about Sam’s mother hen ways. 

Dean lay on the couch for the rest of the day, watching everyone walk past him with duffel bags, ammo boxes, and rifle cases. It was late when Alice poked him in the foot and motioned for him to get up. 

“Sam fell asleep an hour ago, let’s get you back in bed,” Alice said as she held a hand out. They walked silently down the hallway, Dean slowly lowering himself back onto the bed. 

“You need anything before I hit the couch,” Alice asked as she headed for the door. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean said. “Thanks again for everything Alice.”

“You’re welcome Dean,” she said, hesitating in the doorway. “You know that if you ever need me again, you can call me. Your dad and I may have some rough history together and I may not always welcome him here, but you and Sam can always call me.”

Dean nodded silently and pulled the quilt back over him, the memory of playing in Alice’s garden hitting him once again. “You and dad, you’re good now though, right,” he asked. “He got you the gun back.”

“He did, but we’ll see,” Alice said with a slight grin. “He may find it’s not so easy to get back in my good graces.”

An hour later, a hush had fallen on the house, soft snow falling against the windows. Bobby snored in his own room, while Sam finally slept in peace, his snoring roommate finally gone. Dean was slept soundly, his nightmares of the forest fading slightly from his mind. Alice had just dozed off when she heard her phone ringing in her pocket. She smiled in the darkness as she accepted the call.

“Hello John,” she said as she rolled over on her side. 

“Where is it,” he asked angrily. 

“What,” she asked innocently in the dark. 

“You know—the book,” he barked into the phone. 

“Oh. The book, well, it’s in good hands,” Alice said. “Give it about ten years….maybe one day, I’ll need something from you and you can trade me for it.”

She dropped the call and slid her phone back in her pocket. She pulled the small photo album out from under the couch cushion, a place John would never have looked. She walked to the kitchen table and lit the small hurricane lamp, setting the album next to it. She thumbed through the pages, some of the pictures were black and white, some old and faded, others bent from having been folded. She stared at the faces, she could recognize the boys in school photos, baby pictures, and there was even a Polaroid of Mary. She flipped through the book, pausing on the last page; her own face stared up at her. She slipped the photo out of the book and held it up to the light. The boys were both young, one in each of her arms, wrapped in a hug. She felt a pang of remorse, but shoved it away and slid the picture back in place and walked to her study, pulling the key to her wall safe from her pocket. 

The next morning went quickly for everyone. Alice and Bobby wake at dawn, Alice looked more exhausted and run down by the minute. Dean hobbled to the porch and waved as they left.

“Bobby going to be ready for us soon,” Dean asked as Sam hefted the keys Alice had left for them. 

“Yeah, we’ll give him a day or two head start,” Sam said. “I for one am looking forward to some down time.”

He noticed the look Dean throw him, “Dude, I’ve been restrained in a panic room, handcuffed in a hospital, and put on bed rest for the last couple of days. I’m ready for a job.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Soon enough, when you can at least eat an entire pie in one sitting, or beat me at arm wrestling….heck-when you can drive without hunching over and holding your gut—I will look for us a job,” Sam said. “Something easy like a nice routine salt and burn or something.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “Whatever you say, bitch.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam replied. “We leave in two days, rest up.”


	35. Once Upon an Ending, There Was a Cast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last and final chapter, makes me sad...

Three weeks after leaving Alison Hilty’s house in Tennessee, Jim Walsh was finally headed back to school in Atlanta. His time back in his parent’s home had been lengthy, having to take the time to meet with the older men in the tribe and explaining again how he saved a man from the Wendigo spirit that had nested deep within him. 

Jim drove slowly through the snow, the first road sign for Atlanta finally in sight. He was nervous, resuming his clinical work was going to seem so…dull…in comparison to the work he had been doing with the Winchesters. He felt in his pocket for the folded paper that held everyone’s phone numbers. He knew he could call them if he wanted to change direction, whether it be geographical or his career choice. He sighed and gripped the wheel tighter, remembering what Bobby had told him on the porch before he left.

“We need good people in this life, especially people with prescription pads and medical knowledge,” Bobby had said with a wink and a handshake. Jim sighed again; he would finish school before he started his own hunting career. Might even be able to help the Winchesters again, or Garth. 

Jim glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting the see more traffic. Instead, he locked eyes with a man sitting in the backseat. 

“Don’t bother to slow down,” the man said briskly as he adjusted his suit jacket. “Obviously, I won’t need you to pull over to let me out.”

Jim turned his eyes back to the highway, taking an occasional glance at the man in the backseat. He seemed quite content, his body language showing his total ease in the situation; obviously he knew he was in control. His black suit was tailored and his cologne faint, he had the air of importance, but Jim imagined it was self-appointed importance. The man seemed to be waiting for Jim to initiate the conversation, watching the traffic while occasionally looking at Jim in the mirror. 

“What are you,” Jim asked. 

“Well, that would ruin the surprise wouldn’t it,” the man said, his voice a little gravelly. “Tell you what, how about you and I discuss a little business deal?”

“What do you want,” Jim asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He was failing. 

“Wow! I am impressed, one field trip with the Winchesters and you’re ready to just jump right on in,” the man said, his British accent finally catching Jim’s ears. “What do I want…Well, let’s see. I could have used Dean Winchester dead; that would have gotten you a top spot on my party invite list.”

“What are you talking about,” Jim asked, leery. He glanced into the rearview mirror again, the man’s eyes flickered red, so quickly Jim wasn’t sure he had really seen it. 

“You just drive, I’ll talk,” the man said. “In case you crash the car, I’ll be back for you. Can’t believe no one told you about me, makes me feel like the Winchesters just can’t appreciate a good nemesis anymore.”  
\----------------  
Seven weeks after Sam had delivered Dean to Bobby’s couch, they were going stir crazy. Bobby watched from the window as Dean hobbled across the snow covered junkyard, the crutch under his arm barely slowing him down as he headed for the garage. Bobby had just sat back down at his desk when Sam walked in the front door, slamming it behind him. 

“Went that well, huh,” Bobby called out. He heard Sam rummaging through the kitchen before he heard his heavy footfalls heading back down the hallway. 

Sam stepped into the room and dropped into the other armchair. “He’s pissed because the surgeon refused to take the cast off today,” Sam stated. “He gets it off in one week and then starts his physical therapy.”

“You and I both know he won’t want to stick around here for that,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. “And I am out of betting money.” He pointed to a fifty dollar bill pinned to the wall, a sticky note attached to it. 

“Seriously? Garth got a picture of the skunk ape,” Sam asked. “Unbelievable!”

“That’s what I said,” Bobby muttered. “Told him I want to see the picture for myself, make sure he didn’t just photo shop his hand into my wallet.”

Sam laughed and stopped when he heard the front door slam. He and Bobby listened to the strange gait Dean had acquired, a light footfall, followed by the loud thud of the cast, he wasn’t even trying to be quiet. They waited until Dean had walked into the room and dropped onto the sofa, tossing the crutch onto the floor. 

“I got a call from your dad earlier,” Bobby said. “He should be here in the morning, needs to do some research before heading off on a case in Virginia.”

“Maybe he can take Sammy boy here with him,” Dean ground out. “Get him out of our hair for a bit, huh Bobby?”

“Not going to be that easy to get rid of me Dean,” Sam said with a smirk. “Who’s going to make sure you’re doing your training and exercises?”

“Bobby can do it,” Dean mumbled. “You’re drivin’ me fricken crazy, Sam! Take a break.”

“If anyone in this house is getting a break, it’s me,” Bobby interjected. “I’ve had to listen to both of you.”

“Has anyone heard from Jim,” Bobby asked suddenly. “Garth said he’s been trying to get hold of him and hasn’t had any luck.”

The boys both shrugged and shook their heads. “I left him a few messages after Dean re-broke his leg, but I never heard back from him,” Sam said. “I guess school is keeping him busy.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” Bobby said, his voice not sounding convinced. “I figured he would have called to check in on Dean by now. It’s been a few weeks.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, each thinking back over the last several weeks. There had been arguments over whose turn it had been to do dishes, yelling back and forth over a laundry mishap involving a stray red sock that no one would claim ownership of after the whites turned pink, a few poker games, and a subtle battle that Dean had fought silently: mealtimes during the day and nightmares after dark. Since his arrival, he had improved exponentially; but not before Bobby had depleted his whiskey reserve. He had also listening to the brothers argue about Dean’s leg; which had finally ended in a trip to the emergency room when Dean had fallen in the garage and cracked the bone just below the calcification. Surgery and a cast the size of Rhode Island had indeed been the answer. 

Sam and Bobby had undertaken three small jobs while Dean was casted up. He had waited in the car each time, refusing to be left home with Rumsfeld to guard the place. 

“Any word from Alice,” Dean asked curiously from his position in the couch, not looking at either one of them as he raised the question. 

Sam shook his head, Bobby shrugged his shoulders. “Not since last week when she called. She’s probably still in California working on her tan,” Bobby said. “Goodness knows we don’t need the whole reunion at once around here.”

Half a pot of chili and six beers later, the house had quieted down. Sam had long since gone to bed, leaving Dean dozing on the couch, his huge cast precariously hanging over the arm of the couch. Bobby finished pulling the books from the shelves that John would be looking through once he arrived in the morning, better to be prepared than wait for the last second. John Winchester was not a patient man. 

He walked over to Dean and leaned down to the floor to scoop up the quilt Dean had been toting around the house for the past several weeks. It had caught his eye when Dean had first carried it out of the Impala the day they had arrived. The pattern was one of the few Bobby could recognize. The pieces interlocked perfectly, forming into its namesake, the log cabin with its fiery red center, representing the hearth, the center of the home. Bobby stretched the quilt over Dean, wondering how Alice was going to feel when she realized her prized log cabin quilt had been lifted from her own bed. 

Somehow, Bobby didn’t think she would mind. 

The next morning was worse than usual. The snow had continued to fall throughout the night, making the path to the garage unsurpassable for Dean and his enormous cast. He thumped around the house noisily, making it nearly impossible for Sam to concentrate of the Latin inscriptions Bobby had asked him to work on. Tension was high and Bobby knew the arrival of John Winchester would only make things worse. 

John arrived at noon, the rumble of the engine catching the ears of everyone inside. John didn’t bother to knock, letting himself in the front door. The sound of dishes being moved around and the smell of food brought him right into the kitchen, where Bobby was frying up burgers while Sam was working through the last page of Latin. 

“John,” Bobby said with a nod, turning back to the stove. “Sounds like that engine is about to seize up. Better let me take a look at it before you head out.”

“Fine,” John mumbled. “Anyone hear from Alice?”

“She’s in California,” Sam said without looking up from the papers in front of him. “Why?”

“Curious,” John said, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face. “She’s got something I need to get from her.”

Bobby snorted softly, flipping the burgers in the cast iron skillet. He knew that the decade old fight between John and Alice wasn’t really over, might never be over. Alice had a long memory and a vicious streak; Bobby couldn’t imagine what she had taken from John, the man didn’t have much to lose. 

“Bobby, did I really hear a rumor that Garth is on his way here to collect on a bet,” John asked, a small smile crossing his face.

Bobby snorted again and turned to face him, “I’ll pay up when I see it.” 

“Where is your brother,” John asked Sam, glancing over the papers laid out in front of Sam.

“Probably asleep on the couch,” Sam said without looking up. “Thank God for naps!”

John chuckled and asked, “He been difficult to deal with, since his leg got casted?”

“Worse than you can imagine,” Bobby mumbled. “Although I kept thinking maybe that’s why you kept delaying your trip here—“

“I have not been difficult!” Dean called out from the other room. They heard him tussle with the crutch, the sound of him walking across the room unmistakable. 

“You’re not an ideal patient, Dean,” Bobby said. “You gimp around the house for a week on that bad leg, demand to work in the garage-even after Sam and I both said no-broke it and then complained all the way to the hospital. You heckled the nurses, told the surgeon to take a hike, and then checked yourself out early. And then you just moped around here all day, driving me and Sam crazy.”

“Oh come on,” Dean said, trying to pull off his most innocent look. “Like you and Sam are any easier to get along with! Sam ruined my favorite shirt with that red sock! And the only thing he can cook—is salad! And you, well, you’re not most fun person to hang out with for seven weeks Bobby, the only card game you know is go fish!”

“Eat me!” Bobby said as he turned around to face Dean. 

Three sets of eyes turned on Bobby. 

He shrugged and turned back to the stove, “What, to soon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hope you enjoyed this story, it was my first fanfiction story and I had a blast writing it. Anyone interested in the sequel...Jim Walsh and his mystery hitchhiker...Or maybe the prequel, when John and Alice first meet up? Let me know!


End file.
